


An Unbalanced Force

by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie)



Series: Marold Harold [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Babies, Big Bang Challenge, Divorce, Dogs, Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Happy Ending, Harry in Lingerie, Harry in Panties, Holidays, Hospitals, Inaccuracies surrounding Harry's husband's job, M/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Miscommunication, One Direction Big Bang, Original Character(s), Sex Toys, Smut, Suspension Of Disbelief, Teacher Harry, Teacher Liam, Teacher Louis, Teacher Niall, Teacher Zayn, Therapy, Unsatisfying Sex, he's an emergency room doctor, marold harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 110,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullOnLarrie/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: Harry has the rest of his life planned. Marriage. Career. Kids. Happily ever after.But sometimes plans don’t work out.That’s not necessarily a bad thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Sorry the notes are so long)
> 
> 💙💚I collaborated with [Sterre](http://goodmorningtoyouuniverse.tumblr.com) for Big Bang round 2. Her art is throughout the fic and I love it so much! Thank you for a claiming my fic and for reading this when it was barely edited so that you could make all of the art! I loved your reactions as you were reading and I love everything that you drew. You went above and beyond for Big Bang and marold harold.
> 
> 💙💚[Nic](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com), thank you for everything. This fic wouldn't exist without you (like everything I write!), so thanks for listening to my rambling messages about it and for all of the support and for everything, really. Thank you for betaing, even though we both know that's too simple a term for what you do. I literally cannot thank you enough. Thank you for being the best friend and I love you! 
> 
> 💙💚[Jess](http://someonethatsfunny.tumblr.com), thank you for agreeing to read this early on, even though divorce is not a fun subject matter. Thank you for trusting me! And thanks for all of your notes and thoughts and ideas. You helped shape Harold and his marriage, which made it a better story. 
> 
> 💙💚Thank you to [phd-mama](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com) for prereading. HFL was so much lol that I was nervous about sending you marold harold. But your comments about marold harold were so lovely, especially the ones like 'WOW this is harsh. Very understandable but also OW.', 'OOOOF this is so painful. So real and so so painful.', and 'I JUST HAD TO WAVE MY ARMS AND BREATHE A LOT' :D
> 
> 💙💚[Cat](http://catp.tumblr.com), thanks for accidentally nicknaming this fic 'marold harold'! 
> 
> 💙💚[Nadia](http://justalittlelouislove.tumblr.com), thank you for your help with Zayn!  
>     
>  💙💚A big thank you to [Cheese](http://lesbianlouis.tumblr.com/tagged/cheese) for inspiring a scene which then became an entire subplot. Thanks, [Cheese](http://dykes4louis.tumblr.com/tagged/cheese)!
> 
>  
> 
> *If you’d like to translate any of my fics, feel free, but please post the translation on ao3.
> 
> *Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites.
> 
>  
> 
> ÷
> 
> Fizzy does appear in this fic, as does Jay. I will probably always write them in my fics. 
> 
> ÷
> 
>    
> When I was trying to title this fic, I kept thinking about Newton's first law of motion, which states that every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force.
> 
> An external force which causes motion is called _an unbalanced force._ Nic suggested that and it's perfect. Though I'm sure I'll never actually call it by its title.
> 
> ÷
> 
>    
>    
>  _**Anyway, here’s marold harold:** _

÷

A logging truck passes their U-Haul and Harry watches with his face almost flattened against the glass of the passenger window. 

“All clear,” he says, and stifles a yawn. 

It’s boring spending nine hours in any car, but this is boring _and_ uncomfortable because they’re riding on a barely padded bench seat, the entire truck cab smells like someone else’s sweat, and there’s no way to connect his phone to the stereo. 

Settling back against the seat, Harry keeps his eyes on the side mirror while they move into the right lane. He can see their little station wagon swaying side to side where it’s attached to the back of the truck, being towed along with all of their belongings. Two rights and a left turn later, they pull up the steep concrete drive beside their new house. 

A house with a yard and a driveway, a little brick patio out back and an actual white picket fence out front, all to themselves—that’s new as well. No more roommates. New job too, thankfully. Nothing permanent, but a long term substitute teaching position at a high school in the next district. 

Harry adjusts his bandanna, tucking a stray curl underneath when it almost pokes him in the eye, and wipes the sweat off his face with the hem of his already damp t-shirt. Lowering his hands to his hips, he taps his toe and smiles at the peeling red paint on the front door. It’s perfect. 

“Harry!” Harry turns at the sound of his husband’s voice and frowns, domestic fantasy cut short by Gabe shouting for him to hurry up and help unload their things from the moving truck. 

It’s not as though they have a lot, but that’s probably the point; Gabe wants to return the truck as soon as possible. Most of what they have is in boxes—clothes and books and things, with the odd mix of furniture they’ve accumulated—a dining table with no chairs and a leather recliner, along with the bed they just bought last year—blocking all of the boxes.

Mid-afternoon in August is probably the worst time to be outside doing anything at all, and by the time they move the larger items into the house, Harry is down to the least amount of clothing possible—a pair of thin, cut off sweatpants that he thinks may have belonged to Gabe originally, socks, and sneakers. 

No one can see them in their backyard, so Harry figures he’s not likely to scare off their neighbors, and when he climbs into the back of the truck to grab another box, he finds that Gabe must’ve been thinking the same thing. Harry lets his gaze linger on the firm muscles of Gabe’s chest and stomach, raising his eyebrows suggestively when Gabe catches him looking. 

“Harry, focus. Stop thinking with your dick for two seconds.”

Dramatically, Harry gasps with a hand to his chest. “That’s offensive. And I can’t help it. You’re hot and half-naked and we’re moving into our very own house. It’s a powerful combination.”

“Get it out of your system.” Gabe steps past him and picks up a box. “We don’t have time to mess around today.”

There’s still a small pout on Harry’s lips when he follows Gabe out of the truck with a box in his arms, but it disappears after he drops the box in the bedroom, and Gabe sneaks up behind him in the hallway, scaring a short scream out of him, and wrapping his arms completely around him when he spins around. 

Gabe kisses Harry before he can complain, slipping his tongue inside Harry’s surprised mouth. Harry pulls back and mutters, “You said there wasn’t time to mess around.” 

“Yeah…” Gabe leans down to kiss him again, then tightens his grip on Harry’s waist before turning him and marching him out of the house. “Let’s get to work.”

Moving everything out of the truck, down the ramp, and into the house is a lot easier and quicker than it was to carry it all down the two flights of stairs at their old apartment, then up the ramp into the truck. As he delivers each clearly labeled box to the room it’s intended for, Harry smiles to himself, and takes just a few seconds to mentally catalog the entire process of moving into their first real home.

Harry sighs and sets a box of textbooks down in the smallest bedroom, turning to stare through the window at their neighbor’s house next door. For almost a decade he’s been trailing after Gabe as he’s worked to complete his education, and now it’ll all start paying off. When he walks by Gabe on the way back to the truck, Harry stops and says, “We’ve never had real neighbors before.”

“We’ve had more neighbors in the last decade than most people have their whole lives, probably.”

“Yeah, but they don’t count.” Harry rolls his eyes and steps up to the back of the truck, sliding a not-so-heavy box off, and turning to carry it inside. Rubbing the end of his nose against his shoulder, Harry sniffs, and says, “No one counts the other people in their college dorm as neighbors, the only people we could possibly call neighbors since then were either other med school students or other residents. And that one guy we lived next door to for a while who must have been selling weed because, as far as I know, all he ever did was smoke and play video games.”

“True, but they were—”

“They don’t count.” Harry shakes his head, then hefts the box in his arms and continues on inside the house. It’s probably a stupid distinction, but he’s been waiting for this stage of their lives to start, and it feels different. 

There’s very little left in the truck, so Harry sets about assembling their bed frame, and he’s almost finished when he hears Gabe coming down the hall. With Gabe’s help, they put the longer pieces together, then they pick up the mattress from the living room floor, and move it to their bedroom.

“Wish we could have a king sized bed,” Gabe says while securing the fitted sheet onto one of the corners. 

With a quiet grunt, Harry wrestles the opposite corner of the sheet onto the mattress. After he drops it back down onto the frame, he shakes out the flat sheet, draping it over the bed, and says, “Room’s too small. And we’ve always shared a queen bed. Wouldn’t know what to do with the extra space.”

“It’d be nice to be able to spread out, especially when I get too warm.”

Harry hums thoughtfully. “Maybe one day.” Not today. The list of things to buy for their new place is growing fast and Harry doesn’t want to add anything more to it.

“Yeah, one day, maybe.” Gabe helps Harry with the comforter and the pillows, then flops down onto the bed once it’s made.

“Hey! Literally just smoothed the wrinkles out.” Harry swats him with a pillow until he gets back up, then walks around the foot of the bed, following Gabe towards the doorway. “What’s next?” 

“Sweeping out the back of the truck, fill it with gas, return it,” Gabe says, reaching up to snatch Harry’s clip from his hair, he starts backing up down the hallway and Harry follows him, darting his hand out and grabbing his clip, before shooing Gabe away. He pulls his hair back again, hoping that it’ll stay out of his face for now. 

As soon as Harry climbs into the back of the empty truck, his stomach rumbles loudly, and he pats just above his belly button. “Want to stop and get a pizza after we return the truck?”

Gabe nods and starts typing something into his phone, probably searching for the nearest pizza place. 

It’s like an oven, standing in the boxed metal back of the moving truck, so Harry leaves Gabe to it. He jogs to the end of the truck bed and jumps out, landing lightly, but just as he’s congratulating himself on his graceful leap, he steps… _wrong_ somehow, and almost falls to the ground. “Fuck. Ouch.” 

“Alright, man?” 

Harry jerks upright at the unfamiliar voice. Two men, both close to Harry’s age, are standing in the driveway. One is holding a stack of three pizza boxes, and the other has a six-pack of beer in each hand. For a second, Harry thinks he’s legitimately hurt himself jumping out of the truck, like knocked himself unconscious or something, but it doesn’t feel like it. He balances on one foot, holding the possibly injured one in front, and circles his ankle, but it feels fine. “Yeah, I’m good. Can I, um… help you?”

“Oh, no. Thanks though. I’m Niall,” the man with the bright blue eyes says. His hair is dark and his beard is shaggy and he’s holding pizza. “We’re neighbors.” 

Inhaling the scent of pepperoni, Harry steps closer. “Niall. I’m Harry.”

“I’m Zayn.” Harry stops short and the man with the beer holds one six pack out towards him, then he drops it a little as a chuckle seems to take him by surprise. “Sorry. I was about to ask you if you were moving in, as if it’s not obvious that’s the case.”

“Yeah, um...” Harry turns and pokes his head into the back of the truck. “Gabe, two guys are here with pizza and beer.”

Gabe frowns and looks back down at his phone. “I didn’t order—”

“No, I mean, neighbors.” Harry gestures for Gabe to come with him, so he does, climbing down from the back of the truck beside Harry. 

Once he’s on the ground, Harry lets Gabe introduce himself, pointing to Niall and then the pizza. Niall grins and flips open the top box, closing it after Harry grabs a slice, to follow him inside the house. 

As soon as Harry and Niall have the pizzas on the kitchen counter, Gabe comes through the back door with Zayn right behind him, mid-conversation. “It’s a sort of a voluntary neighborhood association. We’ll tell you more about it later.”

“Voluntary,” Niall huffs and Zayn shushes him.

“Anyway, there are once a year dues and it all goes to pay for block parties and things like that. But that’s all boring.” Zayn reaches for a piece of pizza and says, “Tell us more about you.”

Gabe clears his throat, and says, “We moved here so I could go to work at the hospital. I’m a doctor there.”

“Oh, nice. The hospital’s not too far of a commute.” Niall nods and turns to Harry. “What about you?”

Harry chews quickly and swallows the too hot pizza. “I, um, I’m a teacher. I’m starting as a long-term sub at Riverside High School. Tenth grade English.”

“No shit. That’s our school. You must be subbing for Janie; she’s pregnant with triplets.”

“Triplets?” Harry asks a little breathlessly. So many tiny babies. 

“Yeah,” Niall grins and says, “Love all of my friends having babies. I get to be Fun Uncle Niall.” He looks to Zayn and Zayn’s smile mirrors his.

“You both work there?”

“Yeah, we both teach there. Art.” Zayn pats his hand against his own chest, then jerks his thumb towards Niall and says, “History. There are like three other teachers from our school in this neighborhood.”

“Really?”

Zayn shrugs one shoulder and says, “It’s not as expensive as some of the other areas here. And it’s a good place for young families and like, kids and stuff.”

All Harry can do is nod because he knows all of that since he’s the one who researched the area when they were deciding to move there. Silently, he tugs on his bottom lip, thinking of his nephews who he’ll hopefully being seeing more of in person rather than through Instagram photos. 

Until now, their lifestyle hasn’t lent itself to vacations or flights home from wherever they happened to be living, and it makes Harry’s insides flutter a bit, thinking of how much things are going to change now that they’re finally settling down. 

÷

Later that night, after they’ve hung spare sheets over their bedroom windows, and showered, they crawl into bed. Harry scoots closer, resting his head against the outside of Gabe’s shoulder, until he lifts it to allow Harry a little closer.

“I love the house, Gabe. Can’t believe we’re here,” Harry whispers into the dark, and Gabe rubs his hand up and down Harry’s arm.

“It’s strange. I’m a doctor.”

“You’ve been a doctor. You’re just… more doctory now.” Harry counts it as a well-earned laugh when Gabe snorts. 

“Remind me in the morning, I want to talk about the money from your old retirement account.”

“Okay.” Harry taps his fingers against his stomach, then rolls onto his side and taps his fingers against Gabe’s stomach. “Hey, so… want to christen the room?”

Gabe sighs heavily and Harry knows the answer before he speaks. “I’m tired, babe. Drove all day. Legs are sore.”

“I…” Harry sits up and hums quietly. “I could ride you. No effort on your part, really.”

“Not tonight, babe.”

Harry pouts, knowing Gabe can’t see it in the dark. “Yeah, alright.”

After a few minutes, Gabe starts to snore, and Harry slips out of bed. With his phone in his hand, Harry uses the flashlight to dodge the boxes on the floor in their bedroom, then closes the door and tiptoes down the hall, turning on the overhead light in the living room. He goes through to the kitchen and it’s all he can do to control his squeal. 

As busy and full as the day has been, Harry hasn’t had the chance to really look at the house except to find flat surfaces to set things on. The kitchen is so perfect that it almost brings him to tears. 

It’s not new, it’s not even been recently updated, but the old laminate countertops with the band of metal around the edge tugs at Harry’s vintage loving heart. The wall oven is small and none of the appliances match, but it’s theirs. Just having every square inch of cabinet and fridge space for the two of them and not having to label their groceries will be a strange adjustment. Harry opens all of the cabinets and stands back, trying to visualize what their kitchen will look like once they’re settled in. 

After deciding where everything will go in the kitchen—and briefly pondering the logistics of hosting both of their families for Thanksgiving and dismissing the idea—Harry turns off the kitchen light. He takes his time wandering through the rest of the house, running his hands over the walls and the windowsills, getting a feel for the place. They’ll have to buy curtains and he’ll measure and count the windows in the morning, but for now Harry sits carefully on the built in bench in the little bay window in the smallest of the three bedrooms. 

His stomach does a little flip at the thought that this room is intended to be used as a nursery, and the pale yellow of the walls is the perfect color for a small, sun-filled bedroom. Harry stays there for a little while, then turns off all of the lights, and locks himself in the hall bathroom, unlocking it again when he remembers that he no longer needs to worry about one of their roommates interrupting him.

He showered so recently that his hair is still damp, but it’s been a long day, and he’s too wound up to sleep. Quietly, Harry sets his bottles along the ledge of the tub, then turns on the water and hopes for the best. The water sputters at first, but soon turns warm and steady, so he lets the tub fill while he rummages through a box of lotion and shampoo and razors until he finds the bath bomb he knew was in there. 

There isn’t a curtain on the bathroom window, but he’s sitting in the tub and there’s a massive oak tree right outside. He’s sure that no one can see in; still, it fuels the fire of his fantasy while he soaks in the hot water and gets himself off, picturing Gabe on his hands and knees, underneath him on their bed, the sun streaming through the curtainless windows, like a spotlight on them as Harry thrusts into him, hard and fast. 

It takes an orgasm to make him feel how tired he actually is, so he hurriedly washes, dries, and pulls on a pair of boxers. At some point during Harry’s exploration of the house, Gabe has rolled over onto his side, so Harry fits himself behind him. He takes a moment to gently comb the tips of his fingers through Gabe’s dark brown hair, slowly running his palm over his shoulder and arm, pulling the comforter up to cover them both, and draping his arm around Gabe’s middle. 

With his eyes closed, Harry conjures pictures in his head of freshly painted walls, the few pieces of their old, hand me down furniture placed in all of the rooms alongside newer things that they’ll have to buy.

A couch to replace the ancient relic of a futon that they left behind in their old apartment, a second bed for their guest room, a desk and chair for the smallest bedroom so that they can both use it as an office… As Harry starts to drift off, an image dances through his subconscious of that smallest bedroom being used as it’s intended, with a rocking chair in the corner, a crib against the wall, and a baby sleeping peacefully. 

÷


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI there is a very short mention of sex between Harry and Gabe in the first scene of this chapter.

÷

“I thought we were getting curtains.” Gabe frowns at the paint chips as Harry adds another red one to the stack in his hand. 

“No, just blinds or shades or something so people can’t see in. We’ll figure out curtains or whatever later, once we have furniture to sit on.” Harry slides the paint chips into one back pocket, and pulls his phone from the other, checking his list of window measurements and other things they need from Home Depot. “Paint too. I’m not worried about the walls now, but I think I want to repaint the front door.” There’s a pretty emerald green that he loves, but it’ll be much easier to paint over the existing red paint with more red paint. 

“Harry,” Gabe says, taking a breath before chiding him, “We’re renting. Don’t get carried away.”

“It’s fine.” Harry rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not spending our savings on paint.” 

There’s a good chance that they’ll still be in this house in a few years, and Harry doesn’t want to spend that time scowling at the peeling red paint on the front door or being bored by the just barely off-white walls. 

Not when they have permission from the landlord to “make any improvements they’d like” as long as they let him know first. When Harry texted him that morning to let him know that he wanted to paint the door, he almost immediately responded that he’d pay for the paint. And he’s sure he mentioned it to Gabe, but maybe he didn’t. 

“These will work, you think?” Gabe asks, pulling Harry out of his thoughts, and squatting down to pick up a box that Harry knows without looking contains a set of the cheapest blinds in the store. 

“No, I think…” Harry pushes the cart down the aisle a bit, stops, and rummages through a stack of boxes. One at a time, he marks the windows off of his list, eventually filling the cart. He turns to Gabe and says, “These. They’re not super expensive, they aren’t ugly, and if we want, they—”

“These are less expensive.” Gabe holds up the box of blinds in his hand. 

Harry shakes his head. “Those are ugly, babe.”

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Gabe places the box of blinds back on the shelf. “Just saying, those are like three times as much.”

“And I was trying to tell you that we can take them with us eventually.” Harry goes over the list again. “It’s like an investment.”

“Right.”

“Are we really arguing in Home Depot?”

Gabe looks around at the empty aisle, shakes his head, and says, “No, it’s fine. You’re right. They can move with us.”

After they pick up a level and a little battery operated drill, the grand total at the self-checkout is just under a thousand dollars and Harry silently repeats that it’s an investment while he signs his name on the little screen. 

That afternoon, instead of a couch, they arrange to have a brand new IKEA daybed delivered. That way they’ll have at least one place for overnight guests to sleep, if they ever have any.

It seems like forever since they’ve had a day alone with no plans and nothing pressing to do, so once the last window is covered, Gabe follows him willingly. 

“Lay back, babe,” Harry says, pushing Gabe’s shoulder lightly and steering him closer to the bed. It’s possible that knowing everything is precisely where it’s supposed to be in the bedside table drawer shouldn’t be such a turn on.

Gabe drops his shorts to the floor and tugs his shirt over his head, stepping towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Shutting the door.” Harry rolls his eyes. With no roommates, it’s not as though someone will walk in on them. “Or I’ll be staring at it the whole time.” 

After closing the door, Gabe crawls back onto the bed, laying down in the middle, and groaning when Harry climbs on top of him, facing away. It makes Harry huff a soft laugh, as if after more than a decade together, he doesn’t know that his husband likes to watch him finger himself open before he pushes Harry forward onto his hands and knees. 

÷

The meeting starts at seven o’clock, so Harry walks over to Zayn and Niall’s house about ten minutes early, with a bottle of merlot in hand, and a promise from Gabe that he’ll be there as soon as he gets off work. No cars are parked outside the house, but that probably doesn’t matter, considering that everyone lives within walking distance. Still, when Niall opens the door, he says Harry’s the first to arrive, and that Louis should be there any minute.

“Louis is a teacher, right?” Harry asks, trying to remember everyone he’s been told about but hasn’t met. “Science?”

“Yep. He’s cool. You'll like him.”

Harry nods and Niall shows him to the kitchen, where Zayn is busy with jars of salsa and bags of chips. 

“Hey, man.” Zayn dumps a jar of something into a small bowl and Niall takes the bottle of wine that Harry brought, sliding it to the back of the counter, out of the way. They seem to have it under control, so Harry wanders out into the living room, investigating their bookshelves and framed photographs.

Canvases line the walls, Harry assumes that the zigzag in the bottom corner means they’re Zayn’s artwork, and he finds himself stopping to stare at one. It’s abstract, bright yellow and muted orange swirls and slashes of paint. It’s a little bit hypnotizing, which is why it startles him when the front door opens, and he spins around, stumbling slightly over the carpet, but catching himself. “Oops!” slips from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Hi, um…I’m Louis.” 

Harry keeps himself steady, despite the sensation that his major internal organs are all switching places with each other. He finds that he’s unable to speak for a moment, while Louis just watches him with piercing blue eyes, lifting a delicate hand to brush his hair to the side without dropping his gaze. 

Louis’ faded Pink Floyd t-shirt looks vintage and Harry wants to ask him where he found it, but then he thinks that might be inappropriate for their first meeting, and searches his mind for something else to say. His eyes dart around, searching for a place to land, but they accidentally wander down and catch on the vague outline of Louis’ cock in his cut off grey sweatpants. Harry coughs and meets Louis’ eyes.

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “So you’re the new teacher?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m Harry. Mr. Styles if you’re under eighteen.” Harry freezes, squeezing his eyes shut. “I meant, like, students… Never mind.” 

He tips his head up towards the ceiling and sighs. First impressions are not his thing. Usually, during introductions, people are more interested in Gabe, so he carries the conversation, which works well because Harry gets nervous, and his mouth will say all sorts of things without running it by his brain first. 

“It’s fine, Harry.” Smiling, Louis shakes his head and says, “I knew what you meant.”

Harry takes a deep breath and tries to relax. This is one of Niall and Zayn’s friends, of course he’s going to be kind. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Welcome.” Louis points a finger at Harry, then walks into the kitchen, looking back to ask, “Your husband’s name is Gabe, right? He’s a doctor?”

“Yeah, in the ER at the county hospital. How’d you—”

“You guys are the new gossip. But don’t worry, Harold, there’ll be something else next week.” Louis tosses some tortilla chips onto a plate and hurries into the next room. He’s gone before Harry can tell him that his name isn’t Harold.

No one else shows up for the meeting. Including Gabe. He texts around seven-thirty that he’ll be home in an hour, which Harry knows actually means he’ll be home between nine-thirty and ten o’clock. They decide on dates for meetings and parties and things for the next year, and then they plan the next block party in detail. 

Well, Harry doesn’t. He sits beside Niall and eventually scoots over so that Zayn can sit on Niall’s other side, and he listens as they go over the calendar and disagree and bicker a bit and eventually work it out without much fuss. 

Over the course of the meeting, Harry finds out that, while almost all of the residents pay the dues so that they can participate in the neighborhood organized parties, most of those also pay an extra ten dollars per person so that they don’t have to take part in the meetings and actual planning and executing of these parties. Only a few members come to the meetings regularly. 

It’s been so long since college that Harry’s almost forgotten what it feels like, making friends. There have been roommates and coworkers and other medical students that Harry met through Gabe, but since graduating, Harry’s social life has virtually disappeared. 

For a while, he was working part-time on the weekends as a waiter while teaching Monday through Friday, and there were a few people there that Harry was friendly with. He’d go out for a drink after his shifts on Friday and Saturday nights, but he always stayed for one or maybe two and then went home, wanting to see Gabe for at least a few minutes before one of them fell asleep. 

The places they’ve lived have been more isolating than Harry noticed at first, but even once he realized, there wasn't much he could do to change it. Until now. So whether or not he’s supposed to and whether or not Gabe can come with him, Harry’s going to force himself into some semblance of a social life. Especially since this is where they’ve decided to stay. If he’s going to grow old somewhere, he expects to have some friends to complain about it with. 

“So, what’d you think?” Niall asks. 

“I thought it was fun,” Harry says. “I mean… It sounds fun, is I guess what I’m saying. All of the block parties and things that you guys do for the kids on holidays sound like fun.”

“It is, really,” Zayn says. “I’ll show you why we host almost everything and why we don’t pay dues, if you don’t have to rush home.”

Zayn opens a door that Harry thought was a closet, but instead leads to another set of stairs. He calls out as he jogs down the stairs, “Tommo?”

“Tommo?” Harry whispers to himself, trying to remember all that he’s been told about the various people in the neighborhood. 

“Louis. His last name’s Tomlinson,” Niall says and taps Harry on the shoulder. 

“Sorry.” Harry starts down the steps again. 

The stairs end in a basement garage that at some point in the eighties, Harry estimates, was converted into a bar. There’s a place for a keg and there’s an ice bin, a soda gun and a shelf full of liquor, a sink and an assortment of glassware and other bar tools. 

“End of summer barbecue’s Labor Day weekend. We’re all set.” Niall slaps his hands against the bartop and Louis jumps a little on his stool.

Yawning as he pulls his phone from his pocket, Harry covers his mouth with his other hand. It’s later than he thought and Gabe should be home soon. “I should get going. Have to get up early.”

Niall grunts and says, “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright,” Zayn says as he reaches behind the bar and flips a switch, turning off the lights over the bar, then flips another, opening the garage door. “Closing time. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, etcetera, etcetera.”

“You suck, Z.” Louis hops down from his stool and stretches his arms into the air.

“Thanks, guys.” Harry lifts his hand and waves as they all say goodbye. He’ll see them in the morning, since it’s his first day at his new school, and he wants to see Gabe and talk about their days together before the go to bed. 

He’s just started down the hill towards his house when he hears, “Harold!” 

Harry turns around and when he does, Louis jogs towards him.

“My name’s Harry. Just, um… so you know.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says. He starts walking the same way Harry was heading, so Harry falls into step beside him. “It’s a nickname. I can stop if it bothers you.”

“No, it’s okay.” Harry glances over at Louis, still confused at his presence. “Did you need something? Why’d you—”

“Oh, no. Sorry.” Louis lifts a hand and points straight ahead. “Figured it’d be weird if I walked twenty feet behind you the whole way.”

“What?” 

“I live across the street from you.”

“Oh, yeah, that would’ve been weird.” Harry laughs quietly and says, “Thanks for, um… not following me like a creep.” 

“Anytime, Har—”

“Gabe!” Harry tries to shout and not shout at the same time, so his voice comes out wobbly and weird. He waves a little frantically, running for the car as soon as it stops in the middle of the road, and knocking on the window. Gabe rolls the window down and Harry leans inside the car, kissing his cheek. “Hey, babe!”

“Did I miss the whole thing?” Gabe asks, and when Harry nods, he says, “Let me park the car.” 

Harry steps backwards, watching as Gabe parks their car at the bottom of their driveway, and climbs out, crossing the street and meeting him by the stop sign. 

“Sorry I missed it,” Gabe says, then turns to face Louis, extending his right hand. “Gabe Smith.”

Louis shakes his hand firmly and introduces himself, then says, “You didn’t miss much. Just half a dozen people staring at their phone calendars.”

“There were snacks.” Harry takes a step sideways and slips his arm around Gabe’s waist. “Did you eat?” Gabe shakes his head and Harry rolls his eyes fondly. “Come on, babe. I’ll make you a PBJ or something.”

“Yeah, okay.” Gabe lets Harry steer him for a moment, then turns back to Louis, and Harry follows. “Nice to meet you, man. You live in the neighborhood?”

Louis nods and says, “I’m right across the street. Good meeting you, Gabe.”

“’Night, Louis. See you tomorrow!” Harry gives him two thumbs up, then spins back around, raising both eyebrows at Gabe and reaching over to link their hands together. “Want me to fill you in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Gabe tugs their joined hands, bumping their shoulders together. “Tell me all the gossip.”

Harry snorts and proceeds to tell him everything, talking while they walk past the picket fence and up their driveway, while he makes two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, while they eat, and while they get ready for bed. There’s a good chance he falls asleep mid-sentence. 

÷


	3. Chapter 3

÷

The alarm on Gabe’s phone blares at five o’clock and he silences it before Harry can complain about the noise. Still, in his head as he drifts off again, Harry thinks about changing Gabe’s alarm tone to something less jarring, like the song that his is set to. 

Fifteen minutes later, when that goes off, Harry complains, “I’m sick... I’ve got a fever... I might throw up... I’m too tired... My head hurts... I think my leg’s broken.” Gabe’s hand clamped over Harry’s mouth is the only thing stopping him from listing every other excuse that comes to mind. When he lifts his hand, Harry whines, “Don’t make me go to school today.”

“Okay.” Gabe tucks the comforter back around Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry groans dramatically, but throws the covers off and forces himself out of bed. The shower wakes him up and by the time he’s out and dry and dressed, he’s feeling ready to face the day. 

In order to drop Gabe off at the hospital in time for his shift, they leave the house at six, and for the first time since the move, Harry drives. It’s good to have something to focus on, so he concentrates on following Gabe’s directions, but once they’re on the interstate, his mind wanders a bit.

“I hope I like this school. I think I will, but you never know.” Harry chews on his lower lip, but stops when he notices what he’s doing. “Hey, so, there’s a thing on Labor Day, and I want to paint the front door and maybe plant some flowers or something this weekend, so the house looks nice.”

“Harry.” Gabe sighs and says for what feels to Harry like the millionth time, “We’re renting. Don’t get carried away.”

“It’s fine, babe. I already asked and we can take the cost out of next month’s rent.”

The next exit is right around the bend, so Harry slows down, and Gabe starts giving him directions again. A few minutes later, Gabe climbs out of the car in the employee parking lot at the hospital. “I’ll call you to pick me up around seven.”

“Have a good day, babe. Love you.” Harry blows a kiss out of the open door and Gabe purses his lips, kissing the air. 

“Love you too.” Gabe shuts the door and Harry waits a moment and watches him walk towards the hospital, remembering just as he starts to drive off that he needs to rely on his phone to guide him to school. 

As fast as he can, Harry types in the name of the school, which thankfully pops up without Harry knowing the exact address. He spends the thirty minute drive thinking about his classroom, wondering if it’ll be a blank slate or if there’ll be posters and things on the walls. 

÷

Principal Watts, a woman in her late forties or early fifties who absolutely towers over Harry, shows him to a closed classroom door and unlocks it, then hands the key over to Harry. “There you are, Mr. Styles. The other teachers in your group are in the science lab. Have a good first day, and thank you for filling in.” 

“Of course,” Harry says. “I’m happy to be here.” 

Principal Watts nods and leaves him there, heading down the hallway towards the arts and music wing of the school. Harry sticks his head through the doorway, then steps inside. 

There’s not a single thing on any of the walls, the desks and table are all bare, the bookshelves only hold books. The only things about the room that aren’t standard issue are the loveseat and pile of bean bag chairs in the corner between bookshelves. 

Harry smiles to himself, thrilled to have a blank slate. 

There’s a door on the other side of the room and it leads to a large storage closet between his classroom and the next. The door on the opposite side of the closet opens easily.

“Harold!” Louis shouts and claps his hands, then jumps down from the lab table that he was sitting on. 

Zayn and Niall and another man that Harry assumes is Liam, all turn towards him. 

“Hi.” Harry lifts a hand and wiggles the keys in his fingers as he steps into the room. “Just got the keys to my classroom.”

As soon as Harry’s properly introduced to Liam, Zayn says, “I have to go open my classroom.” He pushes himself away from the lab table he’s been leaning against, kisses the tips of his fingers, and Harry smiles, biting his lip when he sees Niall do the same thing just before Zayn walks past. They touch palms so gently that Harry can’t think of it as a high-five, then as Zayn heads for the hallway, they both kiss the tips of their fingers again. It’s the sweetest thing Harry’s ever seen and he has to stop himself from saying so.

“Disgusting,” Louis spits out. “I’m so tired of you happily married people.”

“Shut up, Tommo,” Niall says, with absolutely no heat in his voice. “I want to play tour guide for Harry.”

Louis raises a hand high in the air and Niall nods at him to go ahead.

“Let me do this room?” Louis asks expectantly, winking at Niall, who nods again.

“Right, Harold. Lab tables.” Louis smooths his hands over the surface of the table nearest to him, then points to each of the others. He lifts a stool and sets it back down. “Lots of stools for sitting, four legs, less likely to tip over. And that room you came through? That’s my storage room. Beakers and flasks and so on. Don’t break anything.” 

“Excellent tour, Tommo,” Liam says. “Let Niall finish up.”

Niall walks them around to each room, pointing out the name plates by each door, and promising to help Harry fix his later. The other classrooms are less bare than Harry’s, with posters on the walls, and every teacher’s desk has a calendar along with other things like pens and laptops, Niall’s has a tiny globe perched on the corner, and Liam’s has two jars—one full of brand new pencils and the other with a couple of dollars and some coins on the bottom. 

“Dollar a pencil.” Liam picks up the jar and gives it a shake. “I let my students vote on which charity the money goes to at the end of the year.”

They all split off to their own classrooms, agreeing to meet when the lunch bell goes off. Even though the students don’t start for another week and a half, Principal Watts has the bells running on the upcoming school year’s schedule, so once an hour a loud chime sounds through the speaker in the corner of the room above Harry’s desk, then chimes again five minutes later. Every time, it startles a squeak out of Harry, and then he laughs at himself, hoping that he gets used to it before the kids start classes, and thankful to Principal Watts for having them set to go off when it probably isn’t necessary. 

After the first bell rings and Harry jumps, Liam pops his head into Harry’s classroom. “Hey, so do you have your class schedule yet?”

Harry shrugs and taps his finger on top of a stack of folders and paperwork. “Maybe?”

“Mind if I look?”

“No, go ahead.” Harry continues opening the boxes of new textbooks and novels, while Liam sifts through the pile of papers.

A moment later, Harry’s bent over straightening a row of books, when Liam says, “Here it is. Oh, good, so check it out.” He waves the paper at Harry and waits for Harry to look at it before continuing, “We have a planning period together, so that’ll be good come testing time.”

“Oh, cool.” Harry takes the paper and looks it over. It’s fairly standard, five classes, all tenth grade English, one of those an advanced class, and two free periods for planning and grading.

Liam stays for a few minutes, but then the second bell rings, Harry jumps, and Liam leaves for his own classroom. There isn’t much that Harry can do to his room for now. He makes sure that all of the desks are lined up, then changes his mind and moves them around again. 

Most of his morning is spent making a short list of necessities and a longer list of things he just wants to buy, like maybe a reading lamp for the corner, or some vases and fake flowers, or maybe some framed posters for the walls. 

The lunch bell is supposed to ring at quarter after twelve, so Harry sets the alarm in his phone to go off at twelve-thirteen. When Amy Winehouse starts singing two minutes before the bell, Harry smiles and listens for a bit, thinking of Gabe and their first dance as a married couple, scrunching his nose happily at the memory, before stopping the alarm. He slips it into his back pocket and grabs his keys, just in case. Harry checks the clock, and almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a loud knocking behind him.

“Lunchtime,” Louis sings when he opens the door and steps out of the storage closet connecting their classrooms. 

The bell rings, startling Harry again. “Shit!”

“Yeah, every time the damn thing goes off, I almost fall off of my stool.” Louis laughs, walking straight through Harry’s classroom to the other door, which he opens and leaves through before Harry can think to follow. When Harry does make it out into the hallway, Louis says, “Key?” and Harry unlocks to door to the teachers lounge. 

Niall and Liam are there to catch the door before it swings closed. Lunch is short and they have meetings afterward, but once those are over, they spend the rest of the day talking about the upcoming school year, showing Harry around the rest of the school, introducing him to everyone they can find. When the final bell rings, Harry walks out to the parking lot with Liam and Louis, while Niall goes to meet Zayn in the art room. 

It’s a good first day, and Harry only gets turned around once on the way home, but he figures out where he is, and is home in no time, after a short stop at the grocery store. There’s no particular reason for it, but Harry decides to celebrate a little, buying what he needs to make crab cakes, even though they’re more work than he typically likes to do for dinner on a weeknight. They’re Gabe’s favorite and so is the boxed brownie mix that Harry tosses into the basket. 

Maybe it’s the extra counter space or maybe it’s that Harry doesn’t have to worry about anyone interfering or getting underfoot or maybe it’s not having to clean up somebody else’s mess in the kitchen before he starts, but it doesn’t take him long at all to have dinner mostly ready to go. A few minutes before seven, Harry’s phone pings with a text from Gabe, asking Harry to come pick him up at the hospital. 

While he drives them back home, Harry tells Gabe about his first day and asks about his shift in the ER. His answers are almost always along the same vein of slightly positive to neutral adjectives, which he does not appreciate Harry pointing out. Once they’re home, Harry quickly cooks the crabcakes and heats everything else back up, bringing a plate to Gabe where he’s half-asleep in front of the television.

“Dinner, babe.” Harry nudges Gabe’s shoulder and hands him his plate. They spend the rest of the evening watching _Nailed It_ on Netflix, and eating brownies, while Harry adds to his multiple shopping lists and scrolls through the real estate listings. 

“What are you doing?” Gabe asks later that night when they’re in bed, Harry on his side, still messing around on his phone.

“Looking at houses.” Harry lifts his phone and turns the screen to face Gabe. “Just daydreaming, really. I was working on a list earlier. Stuff I want to get for my classroom.”

“Babe, try to remember that you’re a substitute teacher, okay?”

Harry jerks backwards, clenching his teeth and rolling over so that he doesn’t have to look at Gabe, putting his phone on the nightstand. “I know I am, Gabriel. No benefits and no retirement program.”

“No,” Gabe says, his hand warm on Harry’s shoulder. He rolls Harry onto his back. “I just meant don’t buy a bunch of stuff you can’t take with you. That’s all. And like, we just bought that daybed.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry about…”

Gabe leans in, kissing Harry’s forehead, nose, and lips, and says, “I’m glad you had a good first day.”

Harry yawns in reply and reaches for the lamp, turning it off and waiting while Gabe does the same. They fall asleep sharing a pillow, and Harry sleeps through Gabe’s alarm the following morning. 

÷

Saturday morning comes and Harry doesn’t wake up until seven-thirty, heart leaping when he realizes the time, and taking forever to settle back down again when he remembers that it’s Saturday. 

The home improvement store is even easier to find the second time, and Harry grabs a shopping cart, returning a moment later for one of the flat bed carts. He has no clue what he’s doing and ends up standing in the gardening area googling the plants that he sees that he likes. 

It’s overwhelming and Harry decides to just buy a few of the large potted mums in a deep red, then spends an hour in the paint department, trying to find that exact deep red so that he can paint the front door to match. Eventually he decides he’s close enough, buys a gallon of Ruby Red, and probably too many paint brushes. 

He feels decidedly like an adult when he gets to the register, despite the holes in his blue t-shirt, his frayed cut off jean shorts, and his oldest pair of sneakers. Buying plants and paint. 

When he’s setting up the plants on either side of the front door, Harry calls his mom, getting distracted for another hour. 

“So you really like it so far?” His mom asks the same question worded slightly differently for the fifth or sixth time.

While Harry talks, he walks around the front of his house, down to the bottom of his driveway, alongside the picket fence, and back up again. Still, he keeps his voice quiet just in case anyone’s listening. “Yeah, mom. Really. It’s all… I love it here. I’ve got a good feeling about this school, and the neighborhood, and everything.”

“What does Gabe think?”

“You know what he’s like. He seems to like the job alright. I mean, he doesn’t complain about the hours like he did through his residency, so that’s been… great actually.”

“I bet it’s nice having him home more.”

Harry hums and takes a deep breath before saying, “He’s sleeping better.” It may be true that Gabe’s working fewer hours, but it still feels like he’s rarely home. Like on Saturday mornings when Harry’s doing home improvement projects. 

When he finishes the front door, there’s only a little bit of paint on the handle. Otherwise, it seems perfect. Harry walks down and stands in the front yard by the fence, bandanna and hair clip holding his hair back, paintbrush in hand, looking at the door from a little bit of a distance. He may have gone a little overboard with the red door and red flowers, but at least the flowers will eventually be replaced. 

“Looks good, Harold.” 

Harry turns at the sound of Louis’ voice and smiles. “Thanks, man. Kind of limited in what I can do since we’re renting…”

“Oh, yeah, that makes a difference.” Louis stands in the grass at the edge of his front yard, shirtless, with his hands on his hips. 

“What about you?” Harry nods towards Louis’ house, not sure exactly what he’s asking. 

“I do whatever I want. Bought this house from my grandmother right out of college.” That’s endearing. Harry smiles and Louis speaks before he can. “Doing more painting?” 

“Yeah, the back door. What about you?”

“About to cut the grass.” Louis points to the push-mower in his front yard. “Good luck with the paint. Or whatever you say to artists. Break a leg?”

“God, don’t tell me to do that. I’ll slip and fall on my way around to the back of the house.” Harry shakes his head and takes a few steps backwards and waves when Louis walks back across the street to his lawn-mower. That’s not something that Harry’s thought about, and he knows that means that it hasn’t occurred to Gabe either. Maybe it’s included in the rent or is something the landlord takes care of. 

The back door doesn’t take as long, now that Harry knows what he’s doing. But once they’re painted, he can’t really go anywhere until the paint is dry, because he can’t shut the doors. Harry spends some time doing laundry and looking through real estate listings, but ends up finding a blog chronicling the adoption process for two gay men a few years older than he and Gabe. 

He clicks through to start from the beginning and spends more than two hours reading post after post, crying during the low points, and crying again during the high points. He falls asleep sprawled on his stomach on their bed and wakes up a little while later when Gabe calls, asking Harry to come pick him up. 

On the ride to the hospital, Harry is still thinking about the same tiny baby girl that he fell asleep dreaming about earlier. The prospect of having a family with Gabe is at the forefront of his mind, but it’s difficult for him to switch gears. Babies have always been a ‘once we’ve settled down’ subject, and now that they’re settling down, it’s almost impossible to imagine. 

Gabe climbs into the passenger seat with a frown on his face, so Harry doesn’t ask him about his day at all, just strokes his arm and says, “Hey, babe.” 

They’re quiet on the way home, and quiet over dinner. Harry doesn’t tell him about reading the blog that consumed a big chunk of his time that day, and when Gabe walks past the plants and the freshly painted doors, Harry doesn’t mention them either. 

÷

“Mornings are lame.” Harry yawns and then takes a sip of coffee. “Let’s go back to bed.”

“You planning to sleep all day?”

“No.” Harry pouts and says, “Going shopping later with Niall and Zayn and Louis. Liam too, maybe. To buy stuff for our classrooms.”

Gabe hums and stretches the side of his neck, “You have some stuff from your old classroom, right?”

“Yeah, some.” Harry nods and adds, “But I was teaching history, and now I’m teaching English.”

“Oh… true.”

“Right, so, Louis was cutting his grass and I realized that we don’t have a mower and I didn’t know if we were supposed to pay someone to do it or what, but the landlord said he has one that he’ll bring over.”

Gabe’s eyebrows draw together. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it,” Harry says. It’ll be a part of his Saturday morning. Get up, run, cut the grass, shower, then whatever else he needs to do that day. 

“Okay, thanks, babe.” Gabe tips the last of his coffee into the sink, setting the dirty cup down, and kisses Harry as he walks past him towards the living room. He drops down onto the recliner, reaches for the remote, and turns on ESPN, stretching his legs and zoning out. 

Niall said one o’clock and on time has always felt like late to Harry, so at ten to one Harry slips on his sunglasses and scratches his hand through Gabe’s hair to wake him up when he walks by the couch. “There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge for dinner.” 

“Have fun, babe,” Gabe says, turning up the volume on the television as Harry shuts the door.

The wind blows, twirling Harry’s curls, making him frown slightly as he walks down the driveway. He can’t stop thinking about the logistics of adopting a baby. It seems like such a long and expensive process and he’d rather rent the house they live in and have a baby, than buy a house and not have a baby. 

Harry climbs into Louis’ minivan, throwing his bags on the floor and scooting the seat back a little after he closes the door, asking, “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Louis waits until Harry buckles his seatbelt to drive them less than a quarter mile up the road to Zayn and Niall’s house, where they’re waiting outside. 

Niall boos loudly when he sees Harry in the front seat. He climbs in back with Zayn and says, “I didn’t think about Harry being closer. He’s going to get shotgun every time we go anywhere.”

Harry barks a loud laugh and covers his mouth, cheeks heating in embarrassment. “Sorry. I…”

“Don’t apologize, man,” Zayn says, and Harry turns in his seat to look at him while he talks. “Niall likes sitting back here with me, he just doesn’t want to say it.” Niall leans over and smacks a kiss on the corner of Zayn’s mouth and Louis makes an obnoxious, fake retching sound.

Harry laughs, turning back to face forward in his seat. 

“You act like you weren’t like, all over Ethan at the last block party.” Niall reaches forward and tries to flick Louis’ ear, but he dodges it.

“I’m just fucking with you, Ni.” Louis pulls into the parking lot of an apartment building, pulling out his phone as soon as he stops the car. “Plus, I’d had a lot to drink that day, and he’d been out of town, and—”

“You don’t have to explain why you kiss your boyfriend, Tommo.” 

Louis honks the horn and a second later, Liam comes bounding down the steps from the third floor. Zayn and Niall both move to the third row of seats, and Liam sits down behind Louis. 

“Let’s go spend some money, then,” Louis says, once they pull away from Liam’s apartment building, and are on the road again. 

It feels almost nostalgic, riding in Louis’ minivan, except there isn’t a point in Harry’s life prior to this where he would have had four friends to hang out with at one time. He scowls and purses his lips, trying to remember the last time he did something, anything, with someone other than Gabe or his mom or Gemma. Harry turns in his seat, surveying the back of the minivan and making mental notes about it, just in case they decide to trade in their car to have more room for a car seat. 

÷

The next two days at school, Harry feels scattered. It seems like there’s more pressure to do well, maybe because it’s been so long since he’s taught the subject or maybe because the kids are a couple of years older than the students he’s had for the last five years.

It gives him something to think about instead of focusing on the things he should be thinking about. Like the weird sense of guilt he still feels for hanging out with Liam, Louis, Zayn and Niall over the weekend, when Gabe was home and they’re so rarely off at the same time. Or the time he spends scrolling through real estate listings or the blogs he’s found that chronicle the adoption process.

For about five minutes the night before, Harry considered starting a blog like that. He even went so far as to think of a few URLs before realizing that it was probably silly to do something like that when he hasn’t even spoken to Gabe about starting a family in recent memory.

School starts in the middle of the week, which Harry has always found strange, but he’s appreciative, because it’s a big adjustment, suddenly having almost one hundred fifty fifteen year olds in and out of his classroom all day. Friday after school, Zayn pops his head out of Louis’ storage room and into Harry’s classroom, and says, “Come to happy hour with us? We usually go home, change, then share an Uber to this bar near Liam’s apartment.”

“Oh… um… I wish I could.” And he really does. He could use a drink. “I have to pick up Gabe in a few hours, so…”

“So, come anyway. Drink water.” Zayn shrugs. “And leave from the bar when it’s time to pick him up. You could be our DD for the ride there.” 

Harry watches him for a moment, unsure, but when he walks away and returns with Niall, Liam, and Louis, who proceed to say please repeatedly along with Zayn, Harry relents. 

It’s been a long week, he’s exhausted, and was planning to go home and nap, but he finds himself unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. 

÷

Less than four minutes to shower without washing his hair, Harry timed himself and is pretty sure he could shave off a full minute with practice. For a few seconds, he wonders if Gabe would want to make it into some sort of competition, but then he knows the answer without asking. Maybe Liam would be interested in doing an experiment, since he’s a math teacher. 

Louis meets him at the stop sign on the corner, hopping into the passenger seat of Harry’s station wagon, and handing Harry a ten dollar bill. “Gas money.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Hush, Harry.” Louis waves at him dismissively. “I know you’re the one who stuck that cash in the change cup in my van on Sunday.”

Harry narrows his eyes, wanting to argue, even though Louis is not wrong, so he searches for something witty to say, and unable to think of anything, finally settles on, “Fine.” 

Louis snorts, which bizarrely causes Harry to do the same thing. They’re both pink cheeked from laughter when Niall and Zayn slide into the back seat. 

The bar is nothing huge, which could be why Harry feels so relaxed and at home over the few hours that he spends there. They all take turns playing darts and pool, and the other boys take turns bringing Harry virgin banana daiquiris and piña coladas from the bar. Of course, there’s a little talk about work, but nothing stressful, and Harry finds the time passes easily. 

His phone rings a little after seven, and Harry says a quick goodbye before driving to pick up Gabe.

÷


	4. Chapter 4

÷

Saturdays are quickly becoming Harry’s day to get everything done. He’s mowed the lawn for two weeks now, and has still managed to wash, dry, fold, and put away the entire week’s worth of laundry by lunchtime. 

Harry gets behind the wheel of his car and looks up to see Louis walking up his driveway. He opens the door and leans out, yelling, “What’s up? I’m going grocery shopping.”

“I was just…” Louis shakes his head and jogs the rest of the way up Harry’s driveway, stopping beside the open driver side door. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to come with me to buy the stuff I’m supposed to get for the party tomorrow. But that’s okay.” He laughs and looks away. 

“I want to come. I can probably get whatever groceries I need wherever we’re going, right?”

Louis shrugs, and says, “Maybe.”

“Alright, hold on.” Harry grabs his phone and wallet from the center console of his car, and hurries across the street to Louis’ minivan. “Thanks for including me, Louis. You guys are all really cool for like, letting me tag along and stuff.”

“Yeah, your presence is hardly tolerable.” Louis heaves a sigh and looks over at Harry, rolling his eyes. “Don’t thank me for being your friend, Harry. We hang out with you because we like you.”

“Thanks,” Harry says and his voice cracks, which is probably why Louis doesn’t give him a hard time for thanking him right after telling Harry not to thank him. “I’ve never really had a lot of friends before, so…”

Louis squints slightly at Harry, tilting his head, then shakes it before adjusting himself behind the steering wheel, checking his mirrors, and backing out into the street. When he shifts into gear, he says, “It’s a shame, Harold, that you’ve met so few worthwhile people in your life.”

Harry fights the urge to thank Louis again, pulling his foot up to cross his ankle over his knee, and picking at the pilling fabric of his sock. He scrunches his nose and says, “I suppose it is.”

Standing in front of the paper products, watching him load up the cart with red solo cups, Harry realizes Louis doesn’t even have a shopping list, so he quietly suggests that Louis get some plates and napkins as well, and that he might want to check out the other color options.

“But we just did red, white, and blue for Independence Day and Memorial Day,” Louis offers, as if that’s reason to do it again. 

“Exactly. There are so many colors in the rainbow, Louis. Why keep repeating the same three?”

“We have a bunch of packages of red, white, and blue plates and cups and bowls and shit. Do we just not use them?”

“No, just like… split them up. Save the red and white ones for Christmas and we can use the blue stuff and get like purple or green or something.” Harry crosses his arms and reaches up to pull at his lower lip, wondering if he’s overstepped or something, since he’s technically just along to help. 

“Okay,” Louis says and taps his finger against his nose a few times before reaching for another package of plates. “But let’s do blue and green, and any leftover green stuff can be used at Christmas too.”

“Oh, smart.” 

“Don’t compliment yourself, Harold. We both know it was your idea in the first place.” 

Harry laughs too loudly, stopping himself with a hand over his mouth. “Hmm… So, this is like, simple stuff, right? Balloons and streamers and stuff, nothing complicated.”

“Streamers and balloons are a step up. Though maybe that’s what Niall meant when he told me not to be afraid to spend a few dollars.”

“Really? Well, I’m happy to help you spend that money.” Harry grabs a few things off the shelf and tosses them into the cart. “Is there anything for the kids? Like games or anything?”

Louis shakes his head. “Not that I know of. In July, they just ran around with sparklers and noise makers.”

“Oh!” Harry spins around and walks away, leaving Louis behind. He finds what he’s looking for with the rest of the end of summer clearance items. When Harry picks up the box, Louis pushes the cart around the corner, so he straightens up and shakes the package. “Slip’n’Slide!”

“I don’t know, Harry…”

“For the kids! No adults allowed. And we’ll have to make sure they’re supervised and safe and everything, but think of how fun it’ll be.” Harry shakes the package again, slowly lowering it towards the cart, waiting for Louis to tell him no. 

When he was a kid, his parents never let him have one and he remembers once at camp waiting in line for his turn to run across the grass and fling himself onto the slippery, wet plastic. The kid a few places in front of him had thrown up on it and they’d cleared the whole thing away, and Harry never got another opportunity. “Please?”

“Fine, put it in the cart.” Louis snatches it out of Harry’s hands before he can do it, and reads over the box, finally setting it beside the packages of plates and napkins. “Now let’s get your groceries.” 

They make it back in plenty of time for Harry to make dinner, so he helps Louis unload his minivan into Niall and Zayn’s basement and carries his things home. He turns and waves when he gets to his door, yelling, “See you tomorrow, Louis!”

÷ 

It’s great because the block party means he can meet all of the people he hasn’t yet, and he and Gabe can hang out together as a couple. With other couples. The last time they did that was probably three years ago at Gabe’s sister’s wedding. 

“It’s hard to know how to dress,” Harry says, pouting at his mostly naked body in the full-length mirror.

“Just wear your swimsuit and a t-shirt,” Gabe says, since that’s exactly what he’s doing.

Harry huffs and pulls at some of his shirts, then starts digging through his drawer until he finds the pair of white swim trunks that he’s had for years and never wears because as soon as they get wet, all mystery is lost. They’ll be perfect with his blue and green Hawaiian shirt and white sunglasses. He feels festive and is in a great mood, so while he waits for Gabe, he makes himself a Bloody Mary in a red Solo cup.

“Babe, are you ready?” Harry calls across the house, checking the cookies he bought for the party one last time before closing the lid again and carefully balancing the box in his left hand so that he can carry his drink in the other.

Gabe walks into the kitchen and says, “Yep.”

“Can you get the door for me?” Harry asks, pursing his lips for a kiss, which he gets as Gabe reaches past him to open the door. “Thanks.”

When they get to Niall and Zayn’s, he sets the box of cookies on the table in the driveway. He leaves it unopened, distracted by Louis’ immediate insistence that he pour his drink into a blue Solo cup because red doesn’t match the theme. 

People slowly arrive, as Harry and Gabe help tie ribbons to balloons and signposts, and hang streamers. Liam shows up shortly after Niall rolls out their grill and fires it up, Louis’ boyfriend Ethan drives over with hot dogs and hamburgers and two coolers full of ice, and bit by bit, it grows until they end up pushing two tables together to hold all of the food. 

The Slip’n’Slide goes down as Harry’s best idea to date. He takes it upon himself to stand guard, hot dog in one hand, beer in the other, and shout “Go!” whenever it’s someone’s turn. After he makes the rounds, shaking everyone’s hand, Gabe finds his way over to Harry, hovering nearby before finally stepping closer and yelling, “Go!” a time or two. 

Louis appears on the other side of the Slip’n’Slide with beers for him and Gabe, and Harry’s barely said thank you when he notices Gabe trying to convince an apprehensive kid at the front of the line to take their turn. Six-year-olds aren’t always the most reasonable or logical people, so it’s going nowhere, and Harry is about to step in when Louis hands him his beer, walks over and squats down.

After speaking to the little boy, Louis cups his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. “On your mark! Get set! Go!” They race side by side until they get to the top of the slide, the kid goes flying down on his belly, whooping and grinning, and Louis slips a little on the wet ground before stopping and taking his beer back. 

When it gets dark, they turn off the hose and pack it up, and Niall and Zayn promise Harry that they’ll keep it safe until next summer. Everyone works together to get the party broken down and cleaned up, and in small groups of three or four, people leave, until it’s just Niall and Zayn, Louis and Ethan, and Harry and Gabe. 

Harry yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “Five o’clock comes early.”

“Five?” Niall asks. “You must take forever to get ready, man. I’m always at school before you and I get up at six.”

“No, Niall,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I get up and drive Gabe to the hospital, then I go to school.”

Niall scoffs. “You should just ride with Tommo.”

“What?” Harry and Louis ask at the same time.

“Let Gabe here have the car and just carpool with Tommo,” Niall suggests, nodding in Louis’ direction, then in Zayn’s. “We’d offer, but you know, Smart car. Unless you want to ride in Zayn’s lap.”

Harry starts to say that they’re fine, that he doesn’t want anyone to go out of their way, but Louis and Gabe both start talking before Harry can.

“Sorry,” Gabe says. “Please, go ahead.”

Louis clears his throat and says, “Thanks, man, um… Harry, you’re welcome to ride with me, but don’t feel like you have to just because of these guys. Gabe?”

“Oh, yeah, um… I was just going to say, whatever Harry wants. But it’d definitely be fewer miles on the car.”

Harry shrugs and grabs the last cookie from the plate on top of Niall and Zayn’s bar. “As long as it’s not any trouble, Louis. It’d be nice to have an extra hour or more a day.”

“Well,” Louis claps his hands and says, “It’s settled then. I leave here every morning at six.”

“I’ll be there,” Harry says, saluting awkwardly, then yawning wide enough to close his eyes, before grabbing for Gabe’s hand and pulling him off his stool. “Let’s go, babe.”

It’s been hours on end of standing outside, most of that in the late afternoon sun, and while Harry’s physically tired, his mind is still awake, though slightly intoxicated from a steady stream of beer. 

Harry links their hands together and tilts his chin up to look at Gabe when they walk under a streetlight. “That was fun, hmm?”

“Yeah, it was good.” Gabe disconnects their hands and drops his arm over Harry’s shoulder instead, the warm weight of it settling there. The hairs on Gabe’s arm tickle the back of Harry’s neck so he rolls his shoulders, trying to inch it away. 

“Did you see the house around the corner is for sale?” Harry asks, gesturing vaguely towards the next street.

“The white one?”

“Yeah. Four bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms. It’s perfect for like, a family.”

“Four?” Gabe asks, pushing open their front door. “Four bedrooms is a lot.”

“Depends, I guess. If you have two or three kids, and maybe overnight guests sometimes? Like, my mom and Gemma will eventually want to come stay with us. Once we have more than just a daybed, I mean.”

Gabe hums as he walks off to their bedroom. They brush their teeth and Harry makes them both drink water, since they have to work early in the morning.

Harry plops down onto the mattress, tapping at his phone screen to set his alarm. “I really hope it’s no trouble for Louis to drive me.”

“You don’t have to ride with him.” Gabe fluffs the pillow behind his head and burrows down under the comforter. “I thought it’d be easier. Less driving. Plus, he’s cool, right? You like your new friends.”

Harry huffs and rolls onto his side, facing Gabe. “You make it sound like I’m in kindergarten. But yes, I like my new friends.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, it’s good.” It is. “Maybe I’ll get more done in the mornings, since Louis gets to school earlier than I’m used to.”

“Maybe.” Gabe yawns and closes his eyes.

With only his small lamp lighting their room, Harry watches his husband for a second, then opens the real estate app on his phone to check on the house around the corner. 

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you still planning to go back and take classes for your masters degree?”

Harry shrugs and squints, focusing on the description of the renovated bathrooms in the house around the corner. “Yeah, eventually. Working it into the plan, you know?”

Gabe frowns and rolls over, propping himself up on his elbow. “What plan?”

“The plan. You remember.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Gabe reaches for Harry’s hand and guides it until his phone is face down on the mattress. “Refresh my memory.”

Harry lets his phone go and scrubs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I guess it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it. Feels like everything’s been in a sort of holding pattern for the last nine years.”

“Yeah… So…”

“Oh, so… All of the really time consuming stuff is over now.” Harry falls onto his back, holding both of his hands up, fingers spread apart. As he counts each item off his list, he folds a finger down. “But first it was: you finishing med school, then your residency, and finding a job somewhere we both want to live. Check, check, check. Next up, I have to find a full-time teaching position. I’m kind of hoping…” Harry doesn't want to say it outloud, his hope that his substitute position could turn into a regular job. “Anyway, so it used to be buy a house and then adopt a baby, but lately… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking that a baby might be first, then buy a house. But with how often we’ve moved, owning a home will look better on paper, so…”

“Lots to think about...” Gabe nods and yawns, blinking slowly at Harry while he gathers his thoughts.

“Well, um… I figure we’ll start the adoption process in like a year or so after we buy a house? Then once we have a baby, I’ll stay home for a while. It’ll be easier for me to get back into teaching than for you to stop practicing medicine for a few years. And financially...”

“Um… That’s true.”

“So, I’ll stay home with the baby, we’ll probably start the paperwork on baby number two right away, so they’re close in age, unless we somehow adopt twins.” Harry nods to himself, getting into his stride as he remembers all of the times they had this conversation early on in their relationship. “I’ll be home with them until they’re both old enough for like, preschool? Then I’ll go back to work.”

“Yeah…”

“And somewhere in there I might go back to school. Like, if I take a class a year while I’m a stay at home dad, I can probably return to work with my masters.” Harry wiggles his fingers in the air, a half-assed attempt at spirit fingers, and drops his hand down to land on Gabe’s stomach. “Sound familiar?”

“Yeah… sounds like you’ve got the rest of forever planned out.”

Harry snorts quietly and rubs his hand in circles on Gabe’s stomach. “Yeah, I do.”

÷

Riding with Louis to work in the morning is absolutely nothing like driving Gabe to the hospital in the dark. For one thing, Harry feels like he does everything wrong that first morning, starting by accidentally turning his alarm off instead of hitting snooze, though luckily Gabe wakes him up when he realizes. 

In order to try to be on time, Harry sets a timer for a four-minute shower and he gets dressed fairly quickly, which is excellent, because Gabe didn’t make coffee. 

Harry starts the coffee pot while he double checks his bags and wallet and keys and phone. When he stumbles out of his house, laptop bag hanging open, backpack falling off his shoulder, it’s two minutes after six and Harry is legitimately worried that Louis left without him. 

Instead, Louis backed his minivan up into the bottom of Harry’s driveway so that Harry doesn’t have to cross the street. 

“Sorry,” Harry says as he fastens his seatbelt. “I’m not usually late.”

“Don’t let it happen again, Harold.” Louis pushes his sunglasses up his nose and grabs his coffee mug off of the dashboard, taking a careful sip before pulling onto the road. 

“You don’t… Don’t you worry you’ll spill your coffee?” Harry asks, eyes intent on the hot liquid inside the chipped, oversized coffee mug that Louis clutches in one hand. “Is that… What does it say?”

“First, no. I never spill,” Louis says, slowing to a stop at the end of the road. He glances at Harry, then at his mug, and then checks for traffic and pulls out onto the next street. “My youngest sister made this mug for me. It says, ‘I heard that Oxygen and Magnesium were going out and I was like O Mg’ except the O is for Oxygen and Mg is Magnesium; their symbols on the periodic table.”

Harry laughs and says, “She’s funny. O Mg. How old is your sister?”

“Doris is ten. She’s the youngest.” Louis grins and says the rest like it’s something he’s practiced for maximum dramatic effect. “I have _four_ other sisters.” 

“Really?”

“And one brother. All younger.” 

“Wow, that’s… wow.” Harry shakes his head. It’s hard to comprehend having that many siblings, and if Doris is the youngest at ten, and Louis is around Harry’s age, he was in his early twenties when she was born. “Wow.”

“Alright, Mr. Styles, English teacher, don’t use too many words.”

“Sorry. I just… I have one sister and she’s older than me.”

“Oh, the baby of the family.”

“I guess. If it still counts once you’re in your thirties.”

“Believe me, it counts.” Louis pulls into the teacher parking lot at six-thirty-five. “Five minutes late, Harold. Never again.”

“Sorry, I—”

“Never again.” Louis attempts to point at Harry with the same hand he’s holding his coffee mug in and a bit sloshes out. He looks down at the drops of coffee on his hand, then up at Harry, and deadpans, “O Mg.”

Harry gets a cramp from laughing and drops his phone, fumbling under his seat for it while Louis looks on.

÷

After that first day, it doesn’t take Harry long to adjust to his new morning routine. But evenings are completely different. 

Harry doesn’t leave work between three-thirty and four anymore because Louis always stays until at least four-thirty. He has kids that come for homework help, and kids that come to hang out while they wait for their parents. There’s plenty for Harry to do in his own classroom, and he uses the extra hour or so each afternoon to prepare for the following day, to grade papers, and to read over assignments.

They get home around five, which seems perfect, but a few days into their new carpool arrangement, Harry discovers a problem. 

“Can you stop at the store?” Harry asks Gabe while he brushes his teeth and then waits for him to spit and rinse.

“For what?”

“Groceries? Like, I’d been doing it after school, but…”

“Oh, I don’t know, babe. I’ll probably buy the wrong pasta or something. Plus, it’ll be late.” Gabe spreads shaving cream over his face and Harry watches while he smooths it out. “We could go on Sundays.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t help me today, since it’s Wednesday.” Harry rubs his eyes and steps into the shower. Gabe has Thursdays off and could do it then. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out.” He just has to add it to his schedule.

That morning, Harry barely opens his mouth before Louis says, “Listen, I’ve got stuff to do after school. I can drop you off at home and then go back out, but I thought you might just want to come with?”

“What are you doing?”

“Errands.” Louis glances over like he’s waiting for Harry’s response, so Harry nods. “I have some other things going on with my schedule that I didn’t really think about before we started carpooling, so…”

“Shit, sorry, man. I don’t mean to interfere with—”

“Shut up, Harold. It’s nothing major. Just… you might want to drive Gabe on Thursdays so you have your car. Science club meets after school and I don’t usually get home until after six.”

“Oh, um… okay. That’s cool, actually, because Gabe’s usually off on Thursdays, so I can drive myself. I was trying to figure out when to do my grocery shopping.”

“Oh, really? That’s perfect then. We could do groceries today?” Louis gently taps his coffee cup against Harry’s travel mug and giggles quietly when Harry nods. “Good. So we’ll do some shopping after school today. Bring your list.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and says, “You make it sound like a competition. It’s just groceries.”

“Everything is a competition. Look at me, parking my car equally between the lines.” Louis shifts into park and opens his door, peering down, then climbing out and waiting for Harry on the sidewalk. Once Harry joins him, Louis points to either side of his minivan, then to the cars parked immediately to the left and right. “See how much better I am at parking? I win the car parking competition today.”

“Congrats,” Harry says sincerely. “That’s something to be proud of.”

Louis nods and pulls open the heavy entrance door, holding it for Harry. “It really is. I’ll have to call my mom and thank her for being such an excellent driving instructor.”

÷

The fall standardized testing week sneaks up on Harry.

“Liam?” Harry knocks on the window of the open door to Liam’s classroom during their shared planning period. 

“Back here.” Liam’s voice comes from the front of the room, so Harry walks between the rows of desks, stopping right in front of Liam’s jar of pencils.

Harry leans forward, peering behind the desk. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Needed to lie down.”

“Are you sick?” Harry backs away from Liam’s desk, stares down at his hands, then reaches for the hand sanitizer beside Liam’s stapler. “Do you need someone to cover your classes?”

“No, I’m fine. I just…” Liam grunts and rolls to the side, sitting up, then pushing himself up to stand. He wipes his hands together and then against the side of his khaki pants. “I do this before testing. It’s like… I take some time to remind myself why I’m a teacher and what I love about it. Because I hate testing. It makes me anxious, and the kids too, so…”

Harry points to the floor behind Liam’s desk and asks, “Room for me?” 

After shutting and locking the classroom door and turns off the lights, they lay on the floor behind the desk, side by side, head to foot. There are about forty-five minutes left before the bell rings to signal the end of their planning period, and he and Liam spend the entire time on the floor, talking about testing and students and what they do to relieve stress. 

Harry tells Liam about his meandering walks around his neighborhood, his running, the podcasts he listens to, the music he always turns up too loud and dances around the house to, and the little home improvement projects he’s been working on. 

He doesn’t tell him about his borderline obsession with adoption blogs, though that has become his go-to escape when things get too stressful. He’s also recently started window shopping for cribs and rocking chairs, car seats and strollers, and he started a Pinterest account to keep track of it all. 

After school every single day, Liam works out. Except Wednesdays, when he volunteers at the Humane Society as a dog walker. 

“It feels good, man. I love dogs, but like, being around them and being able to help out and walk them, and donate food and stuff.” Liam grins and helps Harry up off the floor. “Plus, it’s like training for me. If I want to have a dog of my own one day.”

“Why don’t you have a dog now?”

“Doesn’t make sense right now.” Liam shakes his head, flipping the light back on and unlocking the door. “I’m not ready for the responsibility. I have a sort of plan. I practice by volunteering and walking the dogs, then I’ll eventually get a dog, and if that works out well, I know I can like, be a dad one day.”

“That… Babies are not dogs, Liam.”

“I know that, but it’s a higher level of responsibility.” 

When the bell rings, Harry doesn’t jump, mind occupied with everything that Liam said about responsibility and babies and dogs. He hurries to his room to get ready for his next class. 

÷

Testing starts the following Monday and by that Friday afternoon, Harry and Liam are both far beyond frazzled, tense, crabby, and tired, and neither of them feel like going to the bar. Which is how they all five end up taking turns pushing each other around Niall and Zayn’s driveway on a dolly after getting drunk in their basement garage bar. 

“I’m strong! Shut up, Niall!” Harry resolutely does not shout. “Be still.”

Niall’s body stiffens, but he’s not putting his full weight against the metal bars of the dolly.

“Relax, bub,” Harry says as gently as he can manage considering that he’s supporting most of Niall’s body weight balanced on two wheels.

“What’d you call me?” Niall asks, swinging his head around too quickly, rocking the dolly. 

“Bub. Oh my god, Niall, fuck.” Harry drops the dolly forward and Niall stumbles off of it, and into Louis’ waiting arms.

“What the fuck is a bub?” Niall asks after he plants a smacking kiss on Louis’ forehead. 

Harry burps loudly, and rubs at the crease between his eyebrows, trying to remember. “Excuse me. Sorry… um… It’s like a term of endearment?”

“Are you asking me?” 

Unable to determine whether Niall is being sarcastic or not, Harry slowly says, “Are _you_ asking _me?”_

“No,” Niall says, ruffling Harry’s hair. “It’s cute. You call Gabe that?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s like, what I call my nephews. And what I’ll probably call any future babies.” 

“That’s my ride,” Liam says, heading for the little red sedan pulling up to the stop sign. “This week sucked. I have to get home.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Harry says, searching his pockets for his keys and coming up empty handed. “Where are my fucking keys?”

“All your shit’s still in my van,” Louis says. “Niall, you need help with Zayn?”

After they help a sleepy Zayn out of the hammock, Niall tells them that he’s pretty sure he can get his own husband into bed, and sends them on their way. 

Louis and Harry walk down the hill in silence. It feels like Harry has just the perfect amount of alcohol in his system. He’s drunk, but not too drunk. And he was a bit obnoxious tonight, but only intermittently. Louder than normal, but mostly because he was laughing. He hasn’t been sick or said anything inappropriate or stupid. There’s still tension knotting his spine, but once Gabe gets home, maybe they can work some of that out. 

Halfway down the hill, Harry stops, squints into the darkness past the street light, pulls his phone from his pocket, and frowns. There are no missed calls or texts from Gabe, even though he said he’d let Harry know when he got home. Yet, their car is right there in the driveway. 

Harry grabs his things from Louis’ van and says goodnight. The front door is locked, and the porch light is off, so it takes him a little longer than usual to get inside. When he opens the door, he immediately dumps his things onto the sofa, locks the door, and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

The house is dark except for the lamp that he left on in the living room earlier that day, and it’s quiet like it’s three in the morning instead of eleven fifteen at night. For a moment after he gets undressed, Harry stands by the laundry basket and debates whether or not to wake Gabe up, deciding to let him sleep. 

The guest bathroom gets the nice towels, the brand new shower curtain and bath rug, and the collection of body washes, lotions, soaps, and shampoos that Harry got from one of his coworkers as a parting gift when he left his last job. 

The scent is meant to be tropical, but it reminds Harry of the summer he was nineteen with a fake ID, drinking Malibu rum and pineapple juice. That’s the first thought Harry has, standing in the shower, steaming water pounding against the tightness in his shoulders, as he pools the bodywash in his hand and reaches down to cup his balls, sliding his hand to the tip of his hardening cock. 

That summer, oddly enough, he spent a lot of time masturbating in the shower. After going out and flirting with _everyone,_ he would go home alone, too nervous to have his first time be a one night stand. Shortly after that summer, Gabe fell into Harry’s lap, and it was no longer an issue. 

But that summer… It’s really the only time that Harry’s ever fantasized about anyone that he knows he could have actually had sex with, if he’d wanted. Maybe it’s because it was twelve years ago and the sense of nostalgia is making it stand out in his mind, or maybe it’s because he’s drunk and horny, but Harry takes another deep breath in, and groans, loud and low as he thinks back. 

They’d flirted hard, buying each other drinks all night, and had eventually stumbled onto the dance floor. On the bed in his fantasy, this beautiful man is laying on his back, legs spread underneath Harry as he pushes in. He comes shockingly fast; it’s over before he can thrust all the way inside this fantasy man. He isn’t even bracing himself against the wall. He’s barely started, hard and covered in bubbles from the bodywash.

He’s still a little drunk when he falls asleep that night, but he sleeps through Gabe’s alarm and any noise he makes getting ready, waking just after eight with a hangover. 

÷


	5. Chapter 5

÷

None of the Halloween costumes that Harry’s worn before seem right this year. But he doesn’t want to spend a bunch of money, and considering that it’s Tuesday night and Halloween is Wednesday, he finally decides to be lame and just wear his devil horn headband and pin the devil tail to his pants. 

After almost an hour of sitting on the couch mad at himself for his lack of preparation, Harry starts to Google ‘devil’, but one of the first few options is ‘deviled egg’ and he practically leaps out of his seat. 

It takes him about an hour to fashion a costume that looks like a sunny side up egg. One plain white t-shirt with yolk made from a yellow circle of fabric cut from another old shirt and glued to the front. Once the glue is dry, Harry tries it on, standing in front of his mirror, and laughing. It’s his new favorite costume. 

At six o’clock in the morning, Harry slides his bags into the back seat, and settles himself in the passenger seat, unaware that Louis is frowning at him the whole time. 

“You aren’t dressing up?” 

“Of course, I am. You’ll see at school.” Harry turns to look at Louis’ costume and he’s only wearing black pants and a black button up shirt. “You’re not wearing one either.”

“Well, that’s because I didn’t want to.”

“Louis!”

“Kidding. It’s in my bag.”

When they get to school, Harry goes straight to his classroom, pulls off the sweater he wore over his t-shirt, pins the tail in place, slips the horns on and goes out into the hallway. 

“You guys should’ve told us. We could’ve all been food.”

“What?” Harry asks distractedly. The tail of his costume is probably going to knock against the backs of his legs all day.

“Well, I’m a calculator, as you can see by the t-shirt I’m wearing, because it’s what I am every year and because no one asked me to be toast or whatever.”

“Okay…”

“What’s Niall? A banana or something?”

“No... I think he’s Harry Potter. Though he left the beard. So maybe older Harry Potter?” The bell rings and Harry picks up his devil tail, holding it in one hand while he walks back to his classroom. 

It’s not until their combined planning period that Harry figures out what Liam was talking about that morning and why so many of the students in his first few classes have walked into his classroom and immediately shouted, “Bacon and eggs!”

When Harry opens the door to the teacher’s lounge, Louis is standing there in a bacon costume. Once Harry explains to Liam that their matching costumes are accidental, Liam’s a lot less grumpy, and starts coming up with breakfast food costume ideas for the next year. 

All of the students are unfocused because of the holiday, so the day is pretty much a wash. During each of Harry’s classes, he has the students take turns reading aloud from a book of collected works of Edgar Allan Poe, and spends much of the day as zoned out as his kids. 

Louis is ready to go much earlier than usual, throwing open the storage room door at four o’clock and announcing to Harry and the rest of the empty room that he’s had enough and is ready to go trick or treating. 

Instead of pulling into his driveway like he does every other day, Louis stops in front of Harry’s house, and says, “Alright, get out. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?” Harry scowls, adjusting his horns as he climbs out of the van.

Louis doesn’t bother answering, just waves as he drives off, yelling, “Bye, Harold!” 

It’s only half past four, so Harry drops his devil horns on the couch with the rest of his school things, and goes back to the bedroom, where he lays down and promptly falls asleep, face first in his pillow, devil’s tail still pinned to his pants. 

The doorbell wakes him up and it’s immediately followed by someone absolutely pounding on the front door. Disoriented from his nap, and not altogether sure what time it is, or even what day it is, he swings open the door, frown in place, and gasps. 

“Oh, shit!”

“Harold, you’re a teacher. Do better.”

“Sorry, I fell asleep. Wait a second.” Harry holds up one finger and steps sideways, reaching for his horns, but the headband keeps sliding backwards, and there isn’t much he can do about it, so he tosses it back onto the couch. He hesitates a second, then reaches back and unfastens his tail too. “Okay, I’m ready!”

“Without your horns and tail?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, just an egg. What’s first?”

“Well, first, you give the children candy. See the children?” Louis gestures to the kids surrounding him. “This is Doris, you’re a fan of her ceramics. She’s dressed as someone from a book. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never read one.”

“I’m Ginny Weasley,” Doris says with a flourish of her wand. “Wingardium Leviosa!” 

“Oh!” Harry lifts his arms out to the side and slowly goes up on his tip toes as if Doris’ spell is going to make him float away and she giggles and points her wand at Harry again, so he settles back onto his feet properly.

Louis nudges the young boy beside him and says, “Ernie. Say hello.”

“Join the Dark Side,” Ernie says, young voice not nearly deep or gravelly enough.

Harry pulls out his invisible lightsaber, complete with sound effects, and challenges Ernie to a duel which plays out the same way it usually does, when anyone takes it upon themselves to battle Darth Vader. Harry dies valiantly, sprawled in the leaves in his front yard.

“Pretty good, right?” Harry asks, brushing leaves off of his egg. 

“If by good you mean over dramatic and way too drawn out for a death that should have been instantaneous, then yes.” Louis nods and turns away when someone calls his name.

The sun’s setting, so Harry checks his phone, even though he knows that it’s too early to expect to hear from Gabe. On a night like tonight, he’s more likely to end up working late. 

Most of the streets are blocked off and everyone has brought down folding tables, chairs, and all sorts of decorations, so that the kids aren’t going door to door, which Harry finds boring. 

With everyone in costume, after the sun goes down, it’s a lot harder for Harry to figure out who anyone is. He’s halfway up his driveway when he hears Louis calling his name, so he turns, and sees Louis holding two babies. Luckily, it’s Halloween, so Harry’s scream blends in. 

“Whose babies?” Harry asks, clapping his hands and reaching out, not caring which one he grabs. “Can I hold one?”

“You’d better. They’re heavy.” Louis shifts the baby on his right hip, who is dressed like a little pig with a giant pink bow on its head, and Harry takes her, bouncing her in his arms and cooing. “These are my sister’s twins. Charlotte. She’s around somewhere, dressed like a wolf, with her oldest, who is also dressed as a little piggie.”

“Oh, nieces! You didn’t tell me you had nieces.”

“And a nephew. The oldest is a boy, William. And my other sister, Felicite, is pregnant with her first. So… even more babies.” When Louis throws his hand up in the air, the baby in his arms copies his motions, and they both laugh, while Louis wipes drool from her chin. He sighs happily and says, “I’m surrounded.”

“It’s wonderful.” 

“Your piggie is Emmaline, she’s colicky. That’s why I gave her to you.” Louis hefts the baby in his arms from one hip to the other and says, “This is Beatrice. She’s my favorite.”

“Louis!” Harry tries to cover Emmaline’s ears. “That’s horrible. Don’t say things like that.”

“They’re infants, Harold. And besides. Emmaline was my favorite last week.”

Harry huffs and looks down at Emmaline. “You’re beautiful. She’s beautiful, Louis. Thank you for letting me hold her.”

“Well, I know you love babies, so…” Louis points down at the street and then nudges Harry’s shoulder and points again. “There she is.”

A woman with blonde hair and a grey bodysuit, who has to be Louis’ sister Charlotte, is tiptoeing behind a little boy who is probably about two years old. William’s dressed in a slightly larger piggie suit than the ones his sisters are wearing, and he’s got one of those ridiculously huge lollipops in his hand and is toddling down the road, completely unaware of his surroundings. The woman pulls her wolf mask down over her face and she must say something, but from where they’re standing, Harry can’t hear.

William turns around and screams, dropping his lollipop, and Charlotte throws off her mask, scooping him up into her arms. A few minutes later, she carries him over to Louis’ house, and Harry follows Louis across the street, still holding Emmaline. They walk past the barricades in the road and over one block to where Louis parked his van on the side of the road. Harry helps get the babies into their seats and even gets a hug from Charlotte—Lottie, she insisted—just for holding her baby for the last hour. 

Harry waves them off, watching the van until it turns the corner, then he makes his way back home. He checks his phone again, and there’s a text from Gabe; as expected, he’ll be late getting home. Once the Halloween party wraps, Harry helps with the clean up, and then goes straight to bed without eating dinner. 

Sleep doesn’t come right away, Harry lays in the dark, periodically shifting from his back to his right side to his left side and back again, thinking about… things. Since he’s actually expressed his desire to have children out loud, he’s been thinking even more about it, which he didn’t know was possible. It’s becoming a bigger thing in his head, taking on an importance and an urgency that he’s never felt before. 

He continues tossing and turning, drifting in and out, but not sleeping, and waking completely with a start when he hears a car door shut in their driveway. When Gabe peeks into their bedroom, Harry watches him through his lashes, waiting for him to come to bed. As soon as Harry decides to tell him to hurry up, he disappears back down the hallway. In the morning, when Harry wakes up, Gabe’s side of the bed is empty, and when he walks out to the kitchen to make coffee, he sees why. Gabe is asleep on the new daybed, curled up under the fleece blanket that Harry likes to drape over the side. 

It’s Thursday, so Harry grabs his keys, and quietly leaves the house, hoping that Gabe will enjoy his day off alone. 

÷

November has barely started when the temperatures start dropping. Harry finds their winter coats, and gloves join the scarves and hats he’s been wearing for a few weeks. It’s a different type of cold than Harry’s used to, more humid maybe, so it feels different on his skin. When he exhales, it makes the tip of his nose feel damp for a second before it feels cold again. 

The first morning of the cold snap, Harry thought for sure he’d shiver the entire ride to school. But when he climbed into Louis’ minivan, it was warm enough that he ended up wiggling out of his coat halfway there. 

“It’s no big deal,” Louis says when Harry thanks him for warming up his car. “I get up, make coffee, start the shower, run outside and turn on the van, then run back inside and jump into a hot shower.” He shrugs one shoulder and chuckles and Harry jumps a little when Louis’ coffee mug tips precariously. “I almost froze my balls off once, years ago. So it’s selfish, really.” 

Thanksgiving is coming up, and Harry’s mind is occupied with thoughts of his family, and Gabe’s family, and how that will work now that they’re living here. Those thoughts lead to missing his family even more, especially since Gemma is pregnant with her third and Harry hasn’t seen her since finding out. 

The entire holiday season is likely to be a mess and while he knows that he’s worrying about future things that might not even matter, he can’t stop himself. His mind goes to the ifs around Gemma’s pregnancy—if she’s doing okay, if he’ll be able to be there for the birth, if her husband is helping her the way he should (even though Harry knows that he probably is)—and then to the ifs around his own life.

For so long, Harry thought he knew what was next, and now he’s not sure. Once he has a full-time job, buying a house will be next on the list, and should happen before they start the adoption process. And both of those things need to happen before he goes through the steps to obtain his masters degree. 

Yet, Harry finds himself wanting to do all four at once. 

As a distraction, Harry mentally decorates and redecorates their house, while in reality, he and Gabe decide not to furnish the guest room yet. A second bed is expensive, and with the way the mileage has been increasing on their car, they need to start thinking about trading it in for something newer. Something slightly larger, with room for a car seat or two in the back. And a stroller in the trunk. He makes a mental note to ask Louis how he likes his minivan. 

A week before Thanksgiving, Harry starts the car after he makes coffee, then runs inside to take a hot shower, laughing as he gathers his things in his arms and carries them out to the car. When he slides behind the wheel, he shivers and frowns, adjusting dials and pressing buttons until he’s pretty sure he’s tried them all. He leaves the car running and goes back inside, unsure of what to do, so he wakes up Gabe. 

“Shit, babe. Yeah, I’m sorry.” Gabe rubs his hands over his eyes, yawning while he says, “Meant to tell you.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, clenching his jaw because even though he doesn’t know for sure what Gabe meant to tell him, he can figure it out. And he’s not happy. “How long has the heat been broken? All week?”

“No, it went out yesterday. Didn’t work on the way home last night. Sorry, I… I got home late and I meant to tell you. Figured you could just ride with Louis, like usual.” Gabe flops back down onto his pillow with his phone in his hand. “Can’t you?”

It’s at least quarter after six, but Harry goes and peeks out of the front window anyway. Of course Louis isn’t there. And the car is still running in the drive, wasting gas. Harry grabs the blanket off the couch and wraps it around himself, angry, but with no time to argue or let it out, he climbs back in the car, and pulls out of the driveway fighting not to shiver. By the time he pulls into the parking space beside Louis’ he’s almost in tears, so full of frustration that, if he doesn’t stomp it down immediately, it’ll come out. 

As expected, the day is fairly shitty. Periodically, Harry gets the chills, but he soldiers on, and when school is over, he shakes his head at Louis’ offer of a ride home. The drive makes him angrier the longer it goes on, and Harry gets out of the car ready to let out everything that’s been building up all day. 

Every light in the house is off. It’s still early and it’s obvious that Gabe isn’t home. Harry drops the blanket on the daybed along with all of the rest of his things, and while the tub in the guest bathroom fills, he shucks off his clothes, leaving them on the floor. As he slowly sinks beneath the water, Harry finally lets go and the tears fall. 

The water doesn’t hold its heat very well, and before he’s ready or warm enough, Harry drains the tub and climbs out. He’s still so cold that he puts on a pair of fleece tights under his sweatpants, layers a long sleeve _and_ short sleeve t-shirt under his heavy hoodie, and pulls on his warmest socks and beanie. 

Harry sits down in the middle of the couch, wraps the blanket around his shoulders, and stares at the cold, dark fireplace across from him. They’ve talked about getting some firewood, but haven’t done so yet, eliminating that option, even though Harry wouldn’t know the first thing about starting a proper fire.

All of Harry’s anger has been simmering beneath the surface for hours, with no outlet, feeding on itself. He’s already checked the fridge twice, thinking of making something for dinner, before shutting the refrigerator door, and shuffling back to the couch. There’s nothing he wants to eat, and nothing he wants to cook, so he boils water and makes himself a big mug of mint and chamomile tea with plenty of honey. 

It’s just after dark, and Harry’s on the couch again, sipping his second mug of tea, when Gabe comes home. He opens the back door, and steps inside without closing it, so the cold air rushes in, making the hair all over Harry’s body stand on end. 

“Shut the damn door,” Harry grumbles, holding his mug with both hands so that he can steal as much warmth from it as possible. 

“Come outside, babe! Got a surprise.” Gabe wiggles his eyebrows and winks, waving Harry over.

“It’s cold.” Harry sets his mug on the coffee table and adjusts the hat on his head. “I’m not going outside.”

Gabe sighs defeatedly and says, “Alright, just come to the window then.” He goes back outside, finally closing the door. Harry takes a deep breath and pushes himself up off the couch, not really caring what kind of surprise it is, even though it could be anything. 

After lifting the shades a bit, Harry bends down and looks through the window. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry says to his reflection in the window, not nearly as loudly as he’d like. Because out in the driveway, right beside their car, is a brand new Ford truck. And while Harry doesn’t claim to know a single thing about cars or trucks other than how to drive one, he knows what a new vehicle looks like, and he knows that they aren’t generally known for being inexpensive. 

Gabe squats down a bit to meet Harry’s eyes through the window, and when he does, the grin drops from his face. He walks over to the truck and opens the driver’s door, then closes it. The lights flash twice and the horn beeps, then Gabe turns and heads towards the house. 

All day long, Harry’s been holding on to the same general level of _mad_ that he was that morning when he left for work. The arrival at school was the peak of it, and it shrank down and became less sharp feeling as the day went on. But as everything sinks in, he’s overwhelmed by this completely separate and different anger, and Harry doesn’t know what to do. He wants to scream, but isn’t sure he’s actually capable of sounds, let alone speech. Thinking is a stretch after the day he’s had. The only thing he can do is move, so he does that, standing up and lowering the shades. 

“You bought a car?” Harry asks as soon as Gabe opens the door, needing to be sure.

“A truck, but yeah. We both need to have vehicles, so like, I figured a truck for me. We’ll get the heat fixed in the car and you can drive it.”

For a moment, everything that Gabe said makes perfect sense, and Harry finds himself almost nodding before he remembers. “You spent tens of thousands of dollars without even mentioning it to me, Gabe.” Harry tries to keep his voice level and calm.

“I…” 

“Did it seriously not occur to you at any point that I might be upset by this?” Harry rubs his hands over his arms, feeling cold again, and wishing he was back in his warm bath.

“I mean… Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d be _that_ mad.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“You spend money without telling me all the time, Harry.” Gabe rolls his eyes and Harry sees red. 

“Not tens of thousands of dollars!” The only money he spends on himself is built into their budget; things like Starbucks.

“I bet if you added it all up, it’d be ten thousand dollars.”

“I cannot believe this is a conversation we’re having! And you probably thought, since it’d be a pain in the ass to return, I wouldn’t bother. God, Gabe…”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t think that. I just didn’t think you’d be this upset. I really didn’t, I—”

“I froze my ass off today. I’m still freezing. My entire day sucked because you _forgot to tell me_ that the heat was broken in the car. I’ve been miserable and pissed off at you all damn day and this…” Harry lifts his hands to his head, closing his eyes and pressing his knuckles against his eyelids. “I’m so… I’m so fucking exhausted. And so angry… I can’t even think. And I’ve got a headache, so…”

“Have you taken anything?” 

“No, I…”

Gabe turns and walks into the kitchen towards the cabinet where they keep the ibuprofen and Harry’s shoulders slump a little bit. He’s so tired. When Gabe hands him his mug of tea, Harry takes it, and holds his other hand out while Gabe shakes a few pills into it. “Do you, um… You’re still going to be mad in the morning?”

“Yes! Jesus, Gabe, I—”

“Wait!” Gabe holds both hands up and says, “I just meant, you’ve got a headache and you’re tired, so like, go to bed. Sleep. I’ll sleep on the couch. Either way, you’ll still be mad in the morning.”

Harry downs the rest of his lukewarm tea and hands the empty mug to Gabe, then takes the blanket off his shoulders and tosses it onto the couch. “Fine.” 

There’s an extra comforter in a box under their bed, so Harry drapes it overtop of the other one, and climbs into bed. He turns off the lamp and is asleep as soon as he closes his eyes. 

In the morning, Harry feels miraculously better after sweating _all_ night long, and though he’s a little bit shaky at first, by the time he gets out of the shower, he’s fine. When he turns on the coffeemaker, he remembers Gabe’s most recent purchase. And while the rest of yesterday comes flooding back, he turns to say something to Gabe about it, but he’s not there. The blanket is draped over the back of the daybed and Harry’s school stuff is stacked up in the corner. There’s a note on top of Harry’s coat that says, “Talk tonight? Don’t be mad. I knew we wouldn’t have time!” Underneath is a scribbled heart with a capital G inside. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean Harry has to be happy about it. It’s been a while, but especially during Gabe’s residency, they’d sometimes only get an hour or so together once a day, during which neither of them were guaranteed to be awake, so they’d just... wait to discuss something. Or to argue. 

Harry crumples the note and drops it on the floor. 

From the living room window, he sees Louis getting into his van across the street, and he hurries to put on his shoes and coat, grab his things and go. Harry rushes out the door and across his yard, bag banging against his hip, spill-proof travel mug dribbling hot coffee onto the sensitive skin between his thumb and index finger. Harry pulls open the sliding back door to Louis’ minivan, and throws his bag in, yelling, “I’m here!” before jumping into the front seat. 

There are always napkins in Louis’ car, little stacks of unused fast food napkins stuffed in the glove compartment or the center console or the cup holder. Harry grabs one to mop up the puddle of coffee in the lid of his travel mug. “Sorry I’m late. Thanks for not leaving me.”

Louis scoffs and says, as if Harry’s somehow offended him, “I wouldn’t.”

“Oh…” There was no need for Harry to hurry or make a mess or burn his hand. He sets his travel mug in the cup holder and blows on the tender skin, wishing he’d burned his left hand instead. 

At the stop sign, Louis says, “Reach under your seat.” 

Harry does and his fingers brush against something hard and plastic. He gets a hold of it and pulls it forward with one finger hooked in what he thinks is a handle. 

“There’s burn cream in there,” Louis says when Harry sets the first aid kit in his lap. 

“It’s fine. I don’t need—”

“You’ve already got it in your lap.” Louis taps one fingertip against the lid of the box, then turns onto the next street. “And it can’t hurt.” 

Harry scrunches his nose and opens the box. “Thanks.”

“I have ulterior motives. Need you for the darts tournament tonight.”

“Oh… Shit.” Harry bites his lip and looks out of the passenger window. “I… I don’t know if I’ll be there.”

“At Niall and Zayn’s?”

“Yeah, I’ve got something… Gabe, um…”

“Say no more, man. Sorry to lose you, but it is what it is. Husband stuff. I get it.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. 

Considering that they leave school at five, Harry really does have time to walk over to Niall and Zayn’s for a bit. Gabe won’t be home until seven at the absolute earliest. One drink, if anything, because he needs to be sober for whatever confrontation is about to happen with Gabe. 

Harry quickly changes out of his school clothes and into his favorite jeans, and as he crosses his yard, he kicks at the fallen leaves, sending them flying.

When he looks up to cross the road, he sees Louis walking through the grass towards him and waves. 

“Change your mind?” Louis asks, tugging his hat down to cover his ears. 

“No, I’ll, um…” Harry pulls his phone from his pocket and looks at the time. “Gabe won’t be home for a while, so I figured—”

“It's fine, Harold. Always happy to have you.”

Harry’s one ‘sensible’ drink while they throw darts turns into two ‘they’ll be out of my system by the time Gabe gets home’ drinks turns into three ‘I forgot why I wasn’t drinking until I finished it’ drinks turns into Harry stopping counting his drinks as he and Liam swing in the rope hammock together. 

They stay in the hammock, sipping apple pie cocktails through bendy straws, and talking about absolutely nothing important. 

“I want a dog, I think,” Harry says, popping an ice cube into his mouth and crunching down. 

Liam hums and says, “You wanted a baby the other day.”

“Yeah…” Harry looks up at the underside of the branches of the two oak trees and tries to convince himself he can make out individual leaves. “Gabe isn’t really a dog person.”

Liam hums, pushing off of the ground with his feet, and Harry jerks, grabbing at the rope under him. 

“I should go home.” Harry rocks the hammock back and forth, not stopping or getting up to go home. 

“Yeah…” Liam hums and then shouts up at the branches, “Tommo!”

“Fuck you, Liam.” Harry presses the palms of his hands against his ears. They’ve been bothering him all day. 

A drunk Louis appears, standing at the side of the hammock. He holds a hand out to each of them, braces himself, and pulls. Liam practically pops up to standing, but Harry only gets halfway out before he falls back down, his momentum carrying Louis forward. The hammock almost dumps him out on his ass, but Louis tugs hard and Harry slowly stands up. 

“Let’s go, boys.” Louis gives them both a gentle shove towards to end of the driveway. 

Harry glances over at Liam beside him and whispers, “Are you coming to my house?”

“No, I’m staying with Louis,” Liam whispers back. Harry turns at the sound of footsteps and Liam yells, “Tommo!”

Louis and Harry shush him, both of them leaning in with fingers to their lips, chastising him because they’re going to hear about it at the next neighborhood meeting. Liam is still pouting when Harry crosses the street to his house. 

As soon as Harry unlocks the door, he sees Gabe on the couch, and at first he thinks he’s awake. The television is on, but the lights are all off and Gabe’s asleep. Harry turns off the television and leaves him there. 

Saturday continues in the same fashion. By the time Harry wakes up, hungover and hungry, Gabe has been at work for hours. After he does his usual Saturday morning routine and gets the laundry going, he calls around about fixing the heat, but no one will give him an estimate without seeing the car. He drops the idea when he realizes he’ll have to drive it without heat to a mechanic, sit around and wait for what could be hours while they figure it out, then pay for it. If they can even fix it. 

Gabe’s the one who should be taking care of it anyway. 

That afternoon, Harry flips through the magazines full of Thanksgiving ideas that he’s picked up over the last few weeks, and starts another list. At the grocery store, he buys everything he needs to make an entire Thanksgiving dinner because, despite how pissed off he is about Gabe’s truck, he’s been planning to cook a traditional Thanksgiving meal in their first real house for years. Before Gabe gets home from work that night, Harry makes enough chicken soup to eat for lunch and dinner until Thursday, and is most of the way finished making a chart of preparation and cooking times and temperatures. 

When Gabe walks through the door around eight-thirty that night, Harry looks down into the pot of simmering soup on the stove. All day long he’s avoided thinking about him at all, pushing away thoughts of the car or Gabe’s new truck or the entire situation every time they popped into his head. 

He supposes that, if things roll along according to plan, it’ll still be a while before they adopt a baby, and it’s not unreasonable to assume that in two or three years they’ll be ready to buy yet another new vehicle. So it’s not necessarily the truck that Harry’s upset about, but the complete lack of communication surrounding its purchase. 

Rather than bring it up so they can talk about it, which Harry knows they should do, he waits for Gabe to initiate any conversation. 

He can feel Gabe watching him as he stirs the soup. Harry listens to the jingle of his keys as he hangs them by the door and the rustle of fabric as he throws his coat onto the couch. 

Tentatively, Gabe says, “Hi.”

Without looking up, Harry says, “Hi.” Not sure what he wants to happen or if there’s anything else he wants to say. 

Careful footsteps cross the kitchen floor and Harry lifts his chin, body tensing as Gabe comes closer, stands behind him, and rests his forehead on the back of Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll return it Monday, if you want.”

Hanging his head, Harry closes his eyes and leans forward into the steam from the simmering soup. “No, it’s not… It wouldn’t change anything or fix anything. It’s not about…” Harry sighs, turning off the burner, and bracing his hands on the metal edge of the countertop to either side of the stove. “Can we just… Let’s agree that like, if we’re going to spend like five hundred dollars or more, we have to talk about it first?”

Gabe nods against Harry’s shoulder and steps sideways, reaching into the cabinet for two bowls. They eat their soup in silence for the most part. After dinner, they wrap up the rest of the soup and Gabe stacks the containers in the refrigerator. “You bought a turkey?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s huge.” It takes up most of the bottom shelf of the fridge and Harry had to move the middle shelf to make room.

“Babe, it’s just us. Why…” Gabe whines quietly. “That’s so much food.”

Harry shrugs and says, “It’s our first Thanksgiving here.”

“Are you planning to do all of this yourself?”

“No, I figured you’d be able to help me, since you’re off.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t—”

“I don’t want to spend my day off working in the kitchen. I just… don’t.”

“Fine.” Harry turns off the light over the sink, grabs his glass of wine, and escapes to the bathroom, sitting in the tub until he thinks Gabe is probably asleep on the couch. 

They’re off together on Sunday and all morning Harry’s shoulders keep gradually tightening and inching up, until he notices, rolls them around, and pushes them back and down. As if he can force himself to relax. Around noon, Gabe suggests that they spread out the cooking, do the turkey Thursday, but make the other dishes throughout the week. Harry says he doesn’t want to and they both drop the subject. 

It’s the most uncomfortable Harry’s ever felt in his own home. The silence between them is heavy and confusing because it almost feels unintentional. Like they’re both waiting for the other to speak. But it drags on. They eat soup again for dinner, and afterwards Harry reads over some essays from his last period class. 

After he puts his things away, he stands at the end of the hallway, across the room from couch Gabe is laying on and says, “The holidays are going to be weird since we’re not spending them with our families. I just… I want it to be nice. And I don’t want to fight.”

Gabe stretches his arms up and folds his hands behind his head. “Okay.”

÷


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the second scene, Harry and his husband have sex. The lead up is obvious and you should be able to scroll to the next scene.

÷

The week of Thanksgiving, they only have school on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday, Harry does a little of the prep work for the next day, makes pastry dough for the pie he’s planning to bake, cleans the entire kitchen top to bottom, and spends an hour of so thinking he should go through some of the boxes they haven’t unpacked that still take up most of both spare rooms, but not doing it.

Things between him and Gabe are strained and strange and Harry wonders if they're thinking any of the same things or if he’s the only one trying to figure out how things got this bad so quickly. And if they really did get bad quickly or if they’ve been like this for a while, but they somehow didn’t notice. 

Harry starts the turkey first thing and staggers the baking and making of everything else, or at least he attempts to. The plan he sketched out takes most of the day, but is supposed to allow for breaks throughout. So far, none of those breaks have happened and nothing cooks in the amount of time the recipes claim they do. 

At some point in the afternoon, while Harry is peeling sweet potatoes and Gabe is watching football, the hospital calls. Within a few minutes, Gabe is gone to work, and Harry’s alone.

In the early evening, Harry checks the oven, and sets the timer on his phone for one hour. Everything is finished except the turkey, and he’s covered in sweat and grime and grease and flour, so he showers. With another forty-five minutes to kill, Harry gets dressed to go for a walk. 

So many of the families in the neighborhood have cars filling their driveways, but almost as many houses are dark and still. Zayn and Niall are with Niall’s family, and Louis is spending the day at his mom’s house. Harry sees his next-door neighbor Margaret walking her dogs—two tiny terriers named Simon and Garfunkel—and almost invites her over to help him eat, but he stops himself. The last thing he needs is for someone to ask him why he cooked enough food for six people and expect an honest answer. On the way down the hill past Louis’ house, Harry looks over and sees Louis’ minivan in his driveway. 

After he checks the turkey once more, he sends a text to Louis asking what he’s doing. It turns out that his family does Thanksgiving at lunch so that all of the babies can still go to bed at the regular time, and Ethan went to visit his family. Louis is sitting on his sofa, completely uninvested in the football game he’s watching.

Harry tells him to come over and eat later, if he wants. 

Once the turkey is done and resting on top of the oven, and Harry doesn’t have as many pressing things taking up brain space, he thinks of Gabe and he wonders if people ever just… divorce. Without fighting or dragging things out or drama. He shakes his head and refills his glass of wine, opening a second bottle so that it’s ready to go with dinner. Marriages are full of ups and downs, and this is just one of the down times. They’ve been together for more than a decade, so it’s normal to drift away from each other, but they’ll find their way back. 

Louis knocks on the front door a little while later with another bottle of wine in his hand, so Harry doesn’t tell him he’s already had an entire bottle to himself. Mostly they talk about school, their students, Gemma and Fizzy and their pregnancies, Liam and Niall and Zayn. Harry doesn’t mention Gabe’s new truck and Louis doesn’t either, which isn’t surprising if he’s been able to sense Harry’s irritation about it over the last few days.

The food is fine. Good, actually. Harry’s pretty sure he’s never made such a successful meal, but the knowledge doesn’t magically improve his mood. After they eat, Louis insists on helping Harry portion all of the food, wrap it, and clean up. It’s around nine when he goes home and Harry locks the door behind him. He cuts a slice of apple pie for himself and eats it in the bathtub. 

÷

Almost all of the teachers get together immediately after school the Tuesday before Christmas, and exchange Secret Santa gifts in the cafeteria. Harry goes home with a set of vanilla scented soy candles from Mrs. March, the physics teacher. It’s boring and it’s definitely a work requirement and not a party. 

Thankfully, it’s not the only thing Harry has plans to do over the break. Another game night is planned for the Friday before Christmas, and that should be fun. He and Louis are in charge of planning the food and drinks to go along with the red, green, and white plates and cups that they already have. 

The hospital throws a special holiday luncheon that Friday, or that’s what the invitation says, but the way Gabe explains it, they basically rotate everyone through the hospital cafeteria, feed them turkey and jellied cranberry sauce, give them a standard small token gift, and send them on their way. Since Gabe will already be at work, his day won’t really change much. He asks Harry if he wants to come meet him for lunch, but Harry says no, he’ll just see him later at Zayn and Niall’s. 

He and Louis have a list of things to do for game night, including making Jolly Holiday Punch, which is mostly cranberry juice and spiced rum, along with about a million chicken wings that they cook on Niall and Zayn’s grill, and a ton of other food. Harry’s not used to cooking on an open flame, still, he tries his best to keep up with Louis, who’s a patient teacher, and they get everything done in plenty of time.

It’s fairly early on in the evening when Gabe calls and tells Harry about the impromptu get together that some of the doctors and nurses are having in a few hours, and asks if he wants to come. 

“No, it’s fine. Have fun,” Harry says, swirling the ladle in the punch, and refilling his cup. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, babe. Have a good time and I’ll see you… tonight? Tomorrow morning?”

“Tonight, probably. Love you, babe.”

“Love you too,” Harry says and ends the call, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He sips his punch and picks up a chicken wing, wandering back out of the kitchen and right into Liam. “Merry Christmas, Li!” Harry tries to hug him without using either of his hands and without getting Jolly Holiday Punch or chicken on him. He’s mostly successful. 

They play winterized versions of regular games, like Scattergories, which Harry wins, and Pictionary, which Harry loses. He and Liam are on a team and he’s glad that Liam picked him so he isn’t on Louis’ team because he’s almost positive that Louis draws poorly on purpose. Every time he laughs at some ridiculous drawing of Louis’ that’s supposed to be a revolving door or a couch or a razor, he looks up and finds Louis laughing too. 

After that, the party seems to be officially over, so Harry gets his coat. He refills his punch and says goodnight to Margaret when they walk outside together, waves at Ethan when he sees that he and Louis are saying goodbye at Ethan’s car, walks around to the basement garage, pulls out the dolly, and sips his punch while he waits for someone to come push him around on it. 

Niall and Louis come down to the basement from inside the house, and Harry wheels the dolly over. “Who wants to push me?” 

“Not me,” Niall says, shaking his head, and Harry scoffs. 

“I see how it is, Niall Horan.” Harry puts one foot on the flat metal deck of the dolly, facing the handles at the back. 

“Not like that,” Louis says, draining his cup and setting it on the bar. “Drink up, Harold.”

Harry steps off the dolly, looks down at his half full cup and shrugs, drinking it while Louis pushes the empty dolly around. “Okay,” he says when he finishes, watching Louis until he stops right beside him. 

“Get on sideways. I think it’ll be easier to _not_ fall if you’re sideways.”

“How drunk are you?” Harry frowns and steps his left foot onto the dolly. 

With a firm grip on the handles, Louis says, “Put your arm around my neck and like, relax.”

“How drunk?”

“Not as drunk as you.” It’s enough of an answer for Harry, so he nods and circles his arms around Louis’ neck, but he can feel his body already leaning away to jump off of the dolly. “Not going to drop you, Harold. Trust me?”

Harry bites his lower lip and nods again, adjusting his grip on Louis’ shoulders and relaxing against his body so that when Louis tips him backwards and leans with him, Harry hardly notices he’s off the ground at first. Then Louis runs in circles and figure eights, and Harry screams, but not too loudly, and complains, but he doesn’t mean it. The entire time he’s never afraid that he’s going to fall. 

When they take an especially sharp turn, Harry tightens his hold on Louis’ neck, hiding his face between his own arm and Louis’ shoulder, and Louis yells, “Ni, catch him!”

“No…” Harry and Niall both groan at the same time and Louis laughs. Which makes Harry laugh, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on Louis. He feels too drunk to go stumbling off, hoping that Niall is sober enough to catch him. 

“Just step off. You won’t fall.” Louis says as he slows down, just loud enough for Harry to hear. “I won’t let go and you wait until you’re ready.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers and when Louis tips him forward, he regains his balance easily, squeezes Louis tight, then walks in Niall’s direction, not stopping until he reaches him and pulls him into a hug. “I love you, Niall.”

“You too, man.” Niall picks him up and circles around once before setting him back down. “Hey!”

“Hey, man,” Gabe says and Harry spins around fast towards his husband’s voice. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi,” Harry says, heading straight for him. “You want a drink?”

Gabe ducks his head and says, “No, I’m good. You want one?”

“No.” Harry leans closer and kisses him quickly before whispering, “I want to go home.” 

It doesn’t take long to say goodbye after that and Harry plasters himself to Gabe’s side, rubbing his hand in circles over the sweater covering Gabe’s stomach and chest. He squeaks against Gabe’s neck when he reaches down and squeezes Harry’s ass, and frowns when Gabe nips at his lip, so as soon as they get to their bedroom, he pushes him onto the bed. 

“I’m riding you,” Harry says, not waiting for a response before stripping out of his clothes and yanking open the bedside table drawer. “Lay down.” 

Gabe lays in the center of the bed and Harry kneels off to the side, slicking his fingers before sliding them between his cheeks. 

“Turn around, let me see.” Gabe props himself up in his elbows and tilts his head. 

“Nope,” Harry says, working a second finger inside and grinding down against it. He groans as he twists his wrist, unable to touch himself properly in that position, and pulls his fingers free. With more lube, Harry pushes in with three fingers, barely spreading them a few times before he’s pulling them out again. 

Years of marriage have taught Gabe to be ready with the condom when Harry is like this, so he’s already rolled it on before Harry climbs on top of him. He wipes the lube from his hand onto Gabe’s dick and rubs the head up and down until it catches on his rim. With a hiss, Harry forces himself down, pushing past the resistance, and gasps loudly when he’s almost instantly filled. 

With his hands tight on Harry’s shoulders, Gabe grunts and says, “Babe, fuck. You okay?”

Shuddering, Harry nods and breathes deeply through the pain, in and out, until he feels his muscles begin to relax and he can take the last few inches. With one hand he pushes Gabe back down onto the mattress and holds him there, with the other he strokes himself back to full hardness, while he circles his hips and fucks himself on Gabe’s cock. 

After he comes, he takes the condom off of Gabe and sucks him into his mouth, ignoring the taste while he works to get Gabe off fast. A moment later, he comes in Harry’s mouth, pulling out so that some of it splatters on his chin and neck. 

They fall asleep in the same bed for the first time in weeks. 

÷

Going from school ten hours a day, five days a week, to doing absolutely nothing all day long is usually cool for the first few days, but there’s a lot to do around the house and none of it sounds like much fun. The extra bedrooms are still unorganized. They both have boxes and boxes of things that they packed up and put in their parents’ attics before heading off to college more than a decade ago, and this is the first time they’ve lived anywhere with enough space to attempt to go through it all. Those things are easily ignored when they’re behind closed doors.

It’s the rest of the house that he decorates over and over again in his mind, but leaves virtually bare and devoid of personality in reality. 

Sunday, Harry and Gabe spend almost the entire day together, bored and _not_ talking about _anything_ other than what they want to eat all week, since it’s just the two of them on Christmas. Neither of them want a repeat of Thanksgiving. It took forever to eat the leftovers. 

The only thing Harry insists on is cookies for Santa, which is something he’s always done and it’s really the only holiday tradition he upholds. 

Harry makes his cookies on Christmas Eve in the late afternoon while Gabe is at work. He turns up the volume on his ‘ho-ho-ho’ playlist and dances around the entire house, lowering the blinds in each room, and then he _dances_ while he measures dough and bakes cookies and drinks leftover Jolly Holiday Punch. 

While the cookies cool on a rack on the countertop, Harry lays on the couch and listens to his sister complain about gas for at least the third time since he’s been off of work for the holiday. 

Gemma groans miserably and says, “All I want to eat are mozzarella sticks dipped in honey, which is delicious—”

“I bet,” Harry says.

“Try it.” Gemma belches again, so Harry reacts fairly quickly this time and pulls the phone away from his ear. When he listens again, he hears, “—is what happens. And I’m bored. It’s Christmas and you aren’t here and I’m pregnant and emotional and gassy and—” Gemma hiccups. “Damn it.” She hiccups again and neither of them speak. The silence goes on for a moment before she says, “Mom wants—” She hiccups again, then hurries out the words, “Mom wants to visit you and Ga—” She hiccups again. “Gabe.”

“Yeah… No.” Harry waits for Gemma to object, but she just hiccups again. He looks around at the mostly empty room. “The house isn’t… I’m bored too, if you want to know the truth. Made cookies, but all of my friends are with their families and Gabe’s at work. Tomorrow too.”

“That’s lame. Why didn’t you just fly home then?”

“I…” Because it’s their first Christmas in their first house, so it was just supposed to be the two of them. It hadn’t occurred to him to change his plans, even after Gabe knew for sure he’d be working. “I don’t know.”

Headlight beams hit the shades on the front windows and Harry sits up, peeking under the bottom of the window shade to see if it’s Gabe, home early from the hospital. It’s not. Louis is home, backing his minivan into his driveway. He quickly hangs up on Gemma. For a moment, Harry watches, fairly confident he can’t be seen and a little tipsy from the punch, but almost as soon as Louis climbs out of his van, he’s inside his house and Harry is left looking at an empty street. 

Harry checks the cabinets and the fridge and then the cabinets again, pulls out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, and then puts them away without opening either. Because he figures he should eat something, he grabs a piece of cheese before he walks back to his bedroom. 

Even with his apron on earlier, he still got his clothes dirty. His favorite jeans have a smear of chocolate on the thigh and his shirt has a dusting of flour along the right sleeve, so he throws them in the laundry and pulls on his dark green sweater, digging through his dirty clothes until he finds a pair of semi-clean black jeans. 

Harry pulls a beanie over the flour in his hair, takes the pitcher of punch from the fridge, and walks over to Louis’ house without his coat, hoping that he’ll only be outside for a couple of minutes. After he knocks, but before Louis opens the door, Harry realizes that he’s never been in Louis’ house before. He doesn’t know what to expect. 

“Harold. What’s up?” Louis asks and Harry frowns down at the half-gallon of Jolly Holiday Punch in his hands. 

A reason for walking across the street wasn’t something that Harry thought he needed before he did it. He was bored and home alone and Louis seemed to be home alone as well, so he thought they could hang out. 

“I wasn’t doing anything. Saw you pull up. Thought you might like to drink some punch with me?” Harry lifts the pitcher and grins, but Louis doesn’t smile back right away. He does smile before Harry can make himself apologize and go home, and then he stands back and asks Harry to come inside. 

“I was heating up some of my grandma’s mac and cheese. You want some?” Louis asks, leading Harry through the living room and into the kitchen. 

“I thought…” Harry frowns, absolutely sure that Louis told him that both of his grandmother’s had passed away a few years before, but unwilling to say so just in case he’s wrong.

Louis seems to read his mind because he says, “It’s her recipe. My sister made it for me.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d love some. Are you going to have punch?” Harry lifts the pitcher again, but this time he walks it over and sets it down on the counter. 

Louis’ kitchen is laid out almost identically to Harry’s and just from a quick glance around, Harry is pretty sure that their houses have the same floor plan, flipped around, but the similarities end there. 

“You can ask,” Louis says, “about the house.” He pours Harry’s punch into two wine glasses and hands one to Harry.

“How have I never come inside your house before?” Harry asks, and Louis shrugs. “You were a few years out of college when you bought it?” Harry asks, and Louis nods. “So, like, about a decade ago, but you said she passed away recently?” Harry asks, and Louis nods again. 

“I left everything as it was for a long time. But then a couple years ago, Lottie made me get a new couch, and then curtains, lamps at some point, chairs… I wanted to keep all of Grandma’s pictures and things, knickknacks, some of her furniture, like in the dining room.”

“That’s Zayn’s painting?” Harry asks, even though he knows it is. 

“Yeah, Lottie added that and what she called ‘cool science posters’ after we painted the walls. We did like, the whole house over one weekend. Zayn and Niall stored a bunch of my stuff in their garage and helped paint. Liam even drove over to help.” Louis sips his punch and reaches up to rub his fingertips along the edge of the cabinet. “Liam painted the cabinets. He brings it up every time he comes over.”

“I would too.” Harry snickers into his glass and takes a careful sip. “Your sister did a nice thing for you.”

“She loves me. I’m the coolest big brother.” Louis takes a bite of macaroni and cheese and after a moment, says, “How’s your sister? Gemma?”

“I was just talking to her, actually.” Harry pokes at the last bite of macaroni, but doesn’t really want to eat it. “I miss her. She’s pregnant and at my mom’s house for Christmas and her husband is like, busy with the other two kids and mom is cooking and…” Harry sighs. “I wish I could go home. Gabe’s working anyway, but we decided before we moved that we weren’t going anywhere this year, so…” 

“That was before your sister got pregnant, Harry. Have you talked to Gabe about going?”

“No, I didn’t really think about it until...” Harry waves in the general direction of his house. “When I was talking to Gemma.” 

“You should tell him you want to drive up tomorrow. You can pack tonight.”

“Can’t drive. Haven’t fixed the heat in my car.”

“Oh, um…” Louis taps his lips and hums, then picks up his phone from the counter. Harry watches while he texts someone, the little whoosh sounds a few times, and Louis says, “Liam flew out yesterday. He says you can take his car.”

“Oh, I can’t…” 

“Think about it. I have his spare key.” Louis takes Harry’s bowl and sets it in the sink with his own. “Let me know in the morning. I’ll drive you over.” 

Harry nods and carefully pours the rest of the punch into their glasses. “Okay.”

“You know,” Louis says, crossing his arms. The wine in the glass in his hand sloshes around, but doesn’t spill. Harry watches it while Louis talks. “When you showed up I thought it was to tell me happy birthday, but you didn’t know, did you?”

“No!” Harry slaps his hands onto the countertop. “Today? Christmas Eve?”

Louis scrunches his nose and purses his lips and nods. 

“Okay.” Harry holds up one finger. With his other hand he feels around in his pockets until he finds his house keys. “Fuck, it’s cold outside. Okay. Stay here.” Harry raises his eyebrows and points at Louis, then turns and opens the front door, closes it behind him, and runs down the steps, across the street, up the driveway, through his yard, and up his own front steps. 

He digs through their cabinets, finally searching their bedroom, and finds the festive box his new candles came in. It’s big enough to fit half of the cookies, so Harry stacks them inside and runs back outside. 

“Happy birthday, Louis.” Harry hands him the box, hoping he’ll open it right away. 

He sets it on the counter and says, “Are you regifting me your Secret Santa candles?”

“No,” Harry scoffs and flips the lid of the box. “I made cookies. They’re the _best_ cookies. I only make them once a year at Christmas. You can only have one a day or it’s bad luck.”

“That sounds…” Louis narrows his eyes and says, “Fake.” 

“Fine. It’s not bad luck. But you’ll run out of cookies faster.” Harry pulls two out of the box and hands one to Louis. “The recipe only makes eighteen cookies. I gave you nine. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Harold.”

“Is Ethan coming over? Sorry, I didn’t think—”

“No.” Louis shakes his head. “No, he left yesterday for his family’s ski cabin.”

“Oh.” Harry thinks about asking Louis why he isn’t planning to join him, but decides against it. It’s none of his business. 

When the Jolly Holiday Punch is gone, Harry walks home with his empty pitcher while he texts Gabe about the changes to his holiday plans. All he has to pack are his clothes. He shipped everyone’s gifts a week ago. Harry’s already cleaned up any leftover mess from his baking earlier and showered and talked to Gemma, and is laying his clothes out on the bed, trying to decide what to bring, when Gabe responds to Harry’s text. A simple, “Ok.”

With his bags packed and ready by the door, Harry goes to sleep that night feeling disappointed that neither of them seem bothered by the fact that they’re missing Christmas together. Around midnight, he wakes up to the mattress shifting under Gabe’s weight, but he pretends he’s still sleeping. A small, quiet sigh escapes Harry when he feels the warmth of Gabe’s body next to his under the comforter and in seconds he’s asleep again.

When Harry wakes up to an empty house, it takes a moment to remember Gabe’s presence during the night before. He makes coffee and texts Louis that he’s ready to go get Liam’s car whenever, and that he knows it’s not an even trade, but if Louis wants to come over for breakfast, he’s making eggs. 

They eat sunny-side up eggs on toast and drink coffee, and then Louis drives him over. While Harry checks to be sure he has everything, Louis digs an emergency kit out from under the back seat of his minivan, and puts it in the passenger side floor of Liam’s car. 

“Drive safe, man.” Louis closes the car door and smacks his palm against the roof, making Harry jump at the sound. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Thank you,” Harry rushes out. “You’re a really, um… great friend, Louis. Like, I just…” 

“What’d I say about thanking me for being your friend?” Louis hums expectantly and raises his eyebrows. 

In lieu of an answer, Harry steps into Louis’ space, slouching down, and wraps his arms around him, holding tight. As he lets go and backs up, Harry says, “Thanks.”

_“Harold.”_

“That was for the ride. And for talking to Liam.” 

“Fine, alright. You’re welcome.”

“Merry Christmas, Lou.” Harry lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers, waving goodbye to Louis who’s still standing right in front of him. 

“Merry Christmas, Harold.” Louis knocks his knuckles against the car window and says, “Be safe. Text me so I know you’re not dead on the side of the interstate or anything.” 

He walks over to his minivan, and turns, like he’s waiting for Harry to respond, so Harry nods and promises to text. Louis wiggles his fingers, imitating Harry, and Harry huffs a single laugh through his nose, pursing his lips. The long drive is mostly interstate, so Harry doesn’t stop until he needs gas and food in the afternoon. While he eats his Big Mac, Harry texts Louis another thank you, this time for making him do this. Maybe if he makes sure his thanks are more specific, he can get away with it. 

Louis doesn’t respond for a few minutes, and Harry is walking back to the car when he does. It’s a picture of Louis holding all three little piggies from Halloween, except they’re dressed as elves this time, and he’s wearing a Santa hat. All he says is, “Had my hands full so I couldn’t text back right away! Have fun with your family.” Harry smiles, a little jealous that Louis is holding three babies, but he’ll be with his own family soon. 

Before he puts his phone away, Harry texts Gabe and tells him Merry Christmas, and that he’ll let him know when he gets to his mom’s house. When he pulls up in her driveway that night, he checks again and Gabe still hasn’t responded, so he texts a quick, “I’m here!” and pockets his phone.

When he talked to Gemma late the night before, he asked if they could keep his visit a surprise, so rather than knock or text or call, Harry walks right in while everyone’s in the middle of Christmas dinner. 

From the reaction, Harry wonders what his nephews would do if Santa himself appeared in front of them, and if they’d scream as loud and as happily as they do when they see him. His mom makes him a plate of food, alternately crying and laughing and apologizing for both, while she asks him if he wants more ham. 

Gemma doesn’t speak to him directly until dinner’s long been over and she’s already moved to their stepdad’s recliner in the living room. “I tried to make the kids wait to open your gifts, but I couldn’t convince mom, so...”

“It’s fine. I don’t care.” Harry grins and drops into the wingback chair next to the fireplace, scrolls through the selfies he just took with both of his nephews in his lap, all three of them wearing reindeer antlers, and selects one, sending to Louis. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m four months pregnant with my third boy and like I peed a little when I sneezed earlier.”

It being her third, Harry is used to Gemma’s frankness surrounding pregnancy and childbirth and parenting. At least they aren’t discussing her gas issues on Christmas. 

“Thank you for spending Christmas day driving all the way here.” Gemma pushes the chair back until the footrest pops up. “How’s the hubby?”

“I literally hate you every time you say that word.”

“Yeah, it’s why I say it.” Gemma sighs and rubs her belly. “For real though. He likes the new job? Adjusting to the whole… settling down thing?”

“We’ve long since settled down,” Harry scoffs, even though she’s doing what she always does, asking questions he doesn’t want to have to think about long enough to answer. “January is twelve years.”

She just looks at him and taps her fingers on her stomach. 

It only takes a few seconds for Harry to give in. “He’s doing… okay, I guess. Sleeps at home more than he did. I don’t know.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Gemma says flatly. “What about you? Every time I talk to you lately, all you say is you don’t know. Are you guys…” She leaves the question open-ended, raising her eyebrows and miming an even bigger pregnant belly around her four months pregnant one. 

“No.” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out short, but it does, and then he can’t take it back or play it off or turn it into something else. He shakes his head and looks away, focusing on the Christmas stockings hanging from the fireplace mantle. “I’m impatient about it, I know. I don’t even have a regular job yet. We’re still renting… There’s a lot that has to change still before… You know.”

“Harry,” Gemma says his name the same way his mom does when she’s about to say something that is obviously _for his own good._ Maybe it’s a mom thing. “If you guys are still planning to adopt… That takes years… You’re right to be impatient, or at least to be proactive about it, I guess. Know what you’re getting into. Research and all that.”

“I’ve researched,” he says, almost whispering as he shifts sideways to drape his legs over the arm of the chair. “We have… Gabe and I… We’re like…” Harry cranes his neck around to make sure they’re still alone, and that no one can overhear.

Gemma does the same, spinning her recliner and peeking down the hall, then whispering, “Are you thinking about leaving him?” 

“No, no. It’s not… We’re not…” Harry takes a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks as he exhales. “It’s a low point. Like, a dip in the quality of our marriage.” He moves his hand through the air in an up and down wave pattern and tries to smile and sound like he means it. “We just have to… reconnect or something. God, I sound so… cliché.”

“It’s not.” Gemma reaches down for the handle of her recliner and levers herself back up. She looks him straight in the eye and says, “It’s not cliché to want to have a good relationship with your partner, Harry.”

Harry nods, but there’s nothing else to say. When it’s put like that, it doesn’t sound trite or cliché at all. People always say that relationships are hard work, but knowing that and doing the work aren’t the same things. They’ve both been slacking, so even though it’s Christmas Day and they’ve still got a week to the new year, Harry resolves to be a better husband, and to work harder on their marriage. 

When Gemma groans and clambers out of her chair, refusing Harry’s assistance, and disappears down the hall to pee again, Harry pulls out his phone. 

There’s a missed text from Gabe thanking him for letting him know he arrived safe and sound and wishing him Merry Christmas, followed by a red and a green heart. Harry smiles and texts back all of the holiday related emojis, a line of twelve red and green hearts, and the words, “Love you. Miss you. See you when I get home.”

÷


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second scene has smut between Harry and his husband. Again, it's an obvious lead up and you can skip to the next scene.

÷ 

After their laid-back Christmas get together, Harry isn’t sure what to expect for New Year’s Eve. He drives back the Sunday before the new year, and Louis is waiting at Liam’s apartment building when Harry pulls into the parking lot. It’s already dark out, even though he left right after breakfast, and he’s tired. His shoulders are tense and his legs and back are stiff and his head hurts. 

Louis helps him clean up what little bit of mess he left in Liam’s car, and other than asking if Harry had a good time with his family, he’s generally quiet on the way home. The volume of the music is loud enough that Harry feels like he’d have to turn it down if he wanted to speak, so he doesn’t, and dozes off for what only feels like a second, jerking awake when Louis turns off the car. 

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry says, voice scratchy. He clears his throat as he climbs out of the minivan, then reaches into the back seat for his bag. When he stands up, he watches Louis shut the driver’s side door and walk around the front of his van, before asking, “Did you, um… Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah, it was. It was pretty good.” Louis smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets, walking backwards across his driveway. “Bye, Harold.”

“Bye…” Harry stands there for a few seconds, watching Louis in the pale light from his front door as he walks backwards with his hands in his pockets. 

Louis turns and jogs up his front steps, then stops at his front door, tilts his head and says, “You forget something?”

“No, sorry.” Harry shakes his head quickly. “Just tired. Thanks again, man.”

From Louis’ driveway, Harry can see the flickering blue light of the television through the front window of their house, so he takes a deep breath, and crosses his yard, climbing the steps to the front door. When he steps inside, the television is on, and Gabe’s asleep on the couch. 

Quietly, Harry locks the door and carries his bag back to the bedroom. He sorts his laundry and straightens up the little bit of clutter in their bedroom and bathroom, and takes a shower. With a clean pair of briefs on, Harry walks around the house, turning off all of the lights before circling back through the living room. He looks from the television to Gabe and back again, then reaches down and combs his fingers through Gabe’s dark hair. 

Harry scratches his scalp until he stirs and then he says, “Come to bed, babe.” 

After Gabe sits up and starts down the hall, Harry points the remote at the television and sighs before turning it off and making his way to their bedroom in the dark.

÷

The neighborhood party for New Year’s Eve doesn’t start until ten o’clock. Niall and Zayn host it at their house, but Louis does most of the work organizing the catering and clean-up. According to Niall, it’s the most expensive of all of the parties and the majority of that goes to a cleaning crew that comes in after midnight, once everyone’s stumbled home. 

This year, Niall and Zayn built a four-foot diameter ball out of twinkly lights and PVC pipe and pulled it up to the attic window with a rope and a makeshift pulley. The ball’s been hanging there for two days and they’ve been practicing slowly lowering it, so that they can do it along with the countdown to midnight. 

Gabe goes to work, as usual, and the neighborhood is mostly quiet all day. 

Rather than waste time looking at real estate listings for houses that they’re nowhere near ready to buy, Harry turns on some music, turns up the volume, and drinks some coffee in between dancing around the house and finally unpacking some of his old boxes that have been hidden in the second bedroom. 

A lot of the boxes that belong to him are full of old clothes that he put away when he went off to college, thinking he’d pull them down again the next summer, but he never did. Almost all of those clothes go directly from storage containers to the large donation box Harry set up in the hall, just outside the bedroom door. The few things he decides to keep, he dumps into the washing machine. 

Harry spends a good part of the day in that bedroom, and when the donation box is full and he gets to the point where he doesn’t think he can look at another of his old polo shirts with a permanently popped collar, he stops. The things he doesn’t unpack, he moves into the smallest bedroom. 

After he sweeps the floor in the second bedroom, he stands in the doorway, trying to picture it furnished, first with a queen size bed in the middle of the far wall, nightstands and lamps on either side, and a dresser across from it. He blinks and imagines two twin beds on opposite walls, with messy blankets and piles of stuffed animals on the mattresses… bunk beds with a scattered mess of dolls and cars and blocks and crayons on the floor. Harry blinks again, shakes his head, and shuts the bedroom door. 

Harry keeps himself busy, showering and laying clothes out on his bed, trying to decide what to wear. The problem is that he’ll probably be in and out of the house all night and it’s cold outside. When he can’t decide, he starts pulling Gabe’s clothes out, and when he finds Gabe’s royal blue and white Fair Isle sweater, Harry squeals a little but almost immediately grabs Gabe’s solid white cable knit sweater too. 

He tosses the sweaters on the bed and runs across the house to the drier, pulling his white jeans out, shaking them and holding them up to his waist. When he tried them on earlier, after he took them out of the storage container, they _fit._ As in, pulling them on was a sitting down activity first, then a laying down activity to get the zipper up. Now that they’re freshly washed and warm from the drier, Harry isn’t sure he can get them on again.

He manages. He’s not wearing underwear because they kept bunching up, and it shouldn’t be a problem, but he triple checks the zipper anyway, and he hopes the the denim gives and stretches sooner rather than later because he’s hungry. 

When Gabe comes home, he stops in the bedroom door, staring at Harry, who looks down to check if he’s already gotten something on his white jeans. Gabe clears his throat and says, “You going topless or…”

Harry rolls his eyes and quickly puts on the t-shirt he laid out, then tugs the bright blue and white sweater over his head. He tosses Gabe’s white sweater to him and says, “If you wear that and some blue jeans, we’ll sort of match.” Harry regrets his words as soon as he says them. “Is that weird?”

Gabe snorts and says, “Yeah, but it’s fine. As long as I’m comfortable.”

“Good. Get dressed.” Harry grins and points to the sweater in Gabe’s hands, then goes looking for his blue beanie. His only coat is black, so at least it matches his boots, but there’s a blue beanie that Harry knows he’s seen recently and he swears there’s a white scarf in the house somewhere. 

After Harry finds what he’s looking for and walks back to their bedroom, he gets a little sidetracked by his completely naked husband. Harry clears his throat, stepping into Gabe’s space and trailing his fingertips over his chest while he whispers, “Want to?”

Gabe grunts when Harry reaches out, takes his soft cock in his hand and strokes him slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, but we have to be quick.”

Harry lowers himself to his knees, sucks him until he’s almost there, then remembers what he’s wearing and yanks off his sweater, getting his mouth back on him just in time to catch his come and work him through his orgasm. 

The white jeans are too tight for Harry to get his hand inside or even unbutton where he’s kneeling on the floor, so as soon as Gabe finishes, Harry clambers to his feet, unfastens his jeans, and shoves them down. 

With his eyes closed, Harry strokes himself fast, oblivious to anything other than the need to come as soon as he can, so the touch of Gabe’s hand on his balls makes his body lurch. He gasps, his eyes fly open and he looks down, letting Gabe take over, jerking him off roughly until he comes into his hand.

They make it to Niall and Zayn’s a few minutes before eleven and Harry hopes the dirty knees of his white jeans aren’t noticeable. 

Every person that Harry’s met in the neighborhood so far is at Niall and Zayn’s house. There’s a big fire in a pit in their backyard that Harry didn’t even know existed and that’s where they find Zayn and Niall and Louis and Ethan. 

As soon as Harry steps up to the fire, Louis points to him and says, “You match the cups and plates!”

Harry cackles and grins and says, “I do. I wore white jeans.”

“So did I, Harold.” Louis takes a step back from the fire, gesturing at his legs. 

And he did. Louis’ jeans don’t appear to be quite as snug as Harry’s, and Louis is wearing a fitted button up shirt almost the same shade of royal blue as Harry’s sweater. He only sees it for a moment before Louis closes his coat and shivers, crossing his arms and stepping closer to the fire. 

“Gabe is too, um… matching.” Harry turns to bring Gabe into the conversation, but he’s speaking with Zayn about the giant lighted ball hanging from their roof. “You can’t tell with his coat. You can see later, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, holding his hands out over the fire. 

Harry watches Gabe gesturing, stretching his arms wide, and pointing at the ball and laughing with Zayn. Harry catches Gabe’s eye and smiles before turning to Louis and saying, “Hey, man. Louis.”

“Yes, Harold.” Louis rubs his hands together and cocks an eyebrow at Harry.

“I wanted…” Harry scowls and shuffles sideways around the fire pit until he’s more beside Louis than across from him. “I wanted to tell you happy new year. Like, it’s always nuts at midnight, right? So I wanted to say happy new year and let you know that I’m really glad I met you. You’re just… You’re a great person. And a great friend.”

Louis turns completely to face Harry and says, “Happy new year, Harold. You’re pretty alright to have around. Thanks for moving here.” 

Harry laughs and holds out his arms, stepping closer to pull Louis into a hug as he says, “You’ll have to thank Gabe, since his job brought us here.”

“Yeah,” Louis says and pats Harry’s back three times before stepping back a bit and turning towards the fire. “Any resolutions, Harold?”

“A few. Like, nothing specific. I want to try to be more… dedicated to things. Start saving more to buy a house. Things like that. How about you?”

“Oh, yeah. I have some.” Louis tilts his head and smiles apologetically. “But they’re secret.”

Harry huffs and rolls his eyes. “Loser.”

“Who’s the one matching their outfit to the party decorations?”

“Both of us?” Harry asks slowly, not sure how Louis expects him to answer.

“Exactly.” Louis walks away and Harry frowns, rubbing at his eyebrows. 

Harry joins Zayn and Gabe on the other side of the fire, slipping his arm around Gabe’s waist and leaning his head on his shoulder when Gabe lifts his arm and lets Harry tuck himself under it. 

When the clock strikes twelve, the giant PVC ball covered in strands of twinkly lights is a sparkling success. Niall lowers the ball with the rope and Zayn flips the lights so that they stop blinking on and off as soon as it touches the concrete of their driveway at midnight on the dot. Harry leaps into the air like a startled deer, whooping and yelling at the top of his lungs, just before he turns and loops his arms around Gabe’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. 

At first, the kiss is rough and awkward, both of them laughing and mumbling, “Happy New Year,” into each other’s mouths, but after a moment, Harry intentionally slows down. 

He kisses Gabe gently a few times, then pulls back, looking him in the eye. “I love you,” Harry whispers. Gabe smiles and says it back. And when he kisses him again, Harry tries to put everything he’s been feeling lately into it, along with all of the promises he’s made himself over the past week. 

They walk back home a little while later, hands clasped between them, and Harry silently hopes that resolving to be a better husband is a New Year’s resolution he won’t have trouble sticking with.

÷

When school starts back a few days later, Harry has a spring in his step. It was a struggle on New Year’s Day, but Harry still did what he could, getting up with Gabe in the morning, even though he could’ve slept in, making coffee and just talking with him for a few minutes about what they both had planned for their days, and kissing him sweetly at the door when he left. It’s nice. Familiar. It reminds Harry of college, when they shared a dorm room and Gabe would always wake him up with kisses, and they took turns walking each other to class. He makes it an everyday thing.

The effort goes well and Gabe’s pretty receptive to Harry’s sudden change in behavior. Aside from a few confused glances, he takes it all in stride, and things are better between them than they’ve been in… Harry doesn’t like to think about how long. 

Instead, he focuses on the future, planning their first official relationship reconnection for the third weekend in January. It’s the twelfth anniversary of the day that they moved into the same dorm room, and is what Harry’s long considered the start of their relationship, even though they didn’t get together for another few weeks. 

As usual, Gabe is scheduled to work on Saturday, but has the day off on Sunday, and the schools are closed on Monday, so Harry does his usual Saturday routine before going out shopping. He gets everything he needs to make all of Gabe’s favorite foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on Sunday, buys two bottles of cheap champagne, and does as much as he can to prepare things ahead of time, so there’s very little to do the following day. 

On Saturday night, Harry sits up in the living room, watching television and cuddling up to Gabe’s side until he starts to nod off, and Harry makes him go to bed. When neither of them have to be up on Sundays, they typically sleep in a few hours, which has them rolling out of bed around seven, so Harry sneaks out from under the comforter at six and goes to the kitchen. 

Breakfast is easy. Pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee. But Harry arranges everything on the tray he bought just for the occasion, saving the champagne for last. He pours equal amounts of orange juice and cranberry juice into the disposable plastic flutes he swiped from the New Year’s party, and tops them off with champagne, then carefully makes his way to their bedroom.

As soon as he steps into their room, Harry stops and frowns at the sight of an empty bed and the sound of the shower running. “Babe?” Harry sets the tray on the bed and cracks open the bathroom door. “Hey…”

“Hey, babe. Sorry.” Gabe pulls the shower curtain back so that Harry can see his face. “Hospital just called and I need to go in. Flu season.” He shrugs apologetically and closes the shower curtain.

Harry backs into their bedroom, shuts the bathroom door, and carries the breakfast tray to the kitchen where he dumps all of the food into the trash can. He cleans up all of the evidence of his cooking, makes Gabe a travel mug of coffee, and lays down on the couch to pout. 

If he’d told Gabe about his anniversary plans, he probably wouldn't have agreed to go into the hospital, but there’s no point in wasting time thinking about that. He can’t be mad. He’s actually not mad at all, just disappointed about the day, so he makes sure to kiss Gabe twice before he leaves. 

An hour later, Harry feels like he’s got his inspiration back. He decides that they’ll just move everything back a bit and celebrate that night when Gabe gets home. In order to keep himself in the mood, Harry pulls the gift box he’d intended to give Gabe out from under the bed, and opens it. 

It’s not something they’ve done, in fact, Harry started another list that includes a few things they’ve done before and a few things they haven’t, but he’d like to try. This is just one item to mark off. He strips out of his sweats and briefs and, once he’s naked, he stands there with his hands on his hips, chewing on his lip, wondering if it’s a good idea to wear lingerie all day long, and whether or not he’ll get cold with nothing else on around the house.

In the end, he figures there’s no way to know unless he tries, so he sits down on the bed and carefully pulls the pale yellow stockings up his legs. A few seconds later, he rolls them back off, and disappears into the bathroom. It takes almost an hour for Harry to shave his legs completely and trim everywhere else, and then it takes him another half-hour to clean up the mess in the tub. 

But the stockings slide on easily after that. The satin and lace of the babydoll teddy drapes over the muscles of his chest and twirls when he spins and clings to his hips. Instantly, Harry’s day improves. 

It’s almost lunchtime, but he pulls an apron on over his virtually naked body before taking everything out for breakfast again, and eats his pancakes and eggs and bacon along with two mimosas. 

Almost as soon as the sun goes down, Harry gets started on dinner. He’s a bit drunk, but feels pretty solid when he looks over the recipe and starts pulling ingredients out. It’s his first time making anything with kale, which seems much more edible after he cooks it in a broth made with the sausage drippings. The bechamel sauce throws him for a loop, but he does okay, even if it takes longer than the recipe says it should. 

The casserole dish goes into the oven, and Harry sets the timer for an hour, then downs the half glass of warm champagne he stopped sipping on when he started cooking. He immediately refills the glass and drinks too much too fast, then giggles at the idea that he’s getting a lot of use out of what is supposed to be a disposable champagne flute. 

Maybe he’s a little drunker than he thought. 

Harry shrugs and empties his glass again. While he’s filling it, Gabe calls. 

“Hey, babe,” Harry draws his words out and hopes he sounds more sexy than drunk. He carries his champagne back towards their bedroom, setting it down on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Hey, um, it’s a madhouse here. I’m really sorry, but I know it’ll be late when I get off, so I’m just gonna stay tonight. Don’t really want to drive with the number of car accidents I’ve seen today.” Gabe sighs heavily and then Harry does too. Because there’s nothing he can do and no point in getting mad now, or at least the champagne thinks so.

“It’s alright, babe. You busy now?” Harry asks and stretches out on the bed, where he’s spent most of the day in his lingerie. 

“Yeah, actually. Just had a minute. Wanted to call you.”

“Can I call you later? Will you have time?”

“I should. Like, between eleven and twelve.” 

“I’ll call you then. Love you.” Harry blows a kiss into the phone and hangs up, scowling at the ceiling. 

He really, really wants to be mad. Like, he wishes he was sober so he could get drunk all over again. And he would love to scream and yell and throw something and maybe break something too. But he can’t. So he scowls at the ceiling for a little while longer, then he practically pours his entire glass of champagne into his mouth, swallowing most of it, and letting the rivulets that run down his chin and neck drip onto his pillowcase. 

The timer on his phone goes off and Harry growls and stomps off towards the kitchen. He sort of forgot he made dinner and now he _is_ actually mad, but mostly at himself. 

It looks perfect, just like the picture at the top of the recipe, and Harry sets it down on the stovetop just a little too roughly, making a satisfying clattering sound. His phone dings in his hand and he looks down to find a text from Louis reminding him that they don’t have school in the morning. 

Harry shakes his head and texts back that he’s not stupid, thank you very much.

Almost immediately, Louis agrees, but he also sends a second text saying that he just didn’t want to wake up to Harry beating down his door again, because he has plans to sleep in late tomorrow. 

Even though he knows that he’s completely overreacting and that he’s not actually angry with Louis at all, Harry feels himself getting pissed off again, and when Louis sends a third text full of sleeping Z emojis, Harry instantly responds with row after row of middle fingers. Before he can set his phone down on the kitchen counter, it dings with a single middle finger emoji from Louis. Then another one. And another. He sends the exact same number of middle finger emojis that Harry did, except he sends them one at a time. And when Harry realizes that’s probably what he’s doing, he yells at the microwave and pounds his fists against the countertop. 

After that, he feels better.

So he texts Louis an apology and an invitation to join him for dinner. He pulls plates out of the cabinet, sets them down, and that’s when he sees the sheer yellow lingerie he’s been wearing since lunch. Louis knocks on the front door while Harry’s tucking the satin and lace of his top into his sweatpants, so he pulls on a pair of socks over his stockings, and picks up Gabe’s sweater from the floor, tugging it over his head as he runs for the door.

He has to answer the door, despite the flaming hot mess that is his face, and despite being so embarrassed at forgetting what he was wearing. And surprisingly, a little turned on at the idea of getting caught wearing lingerie. Harry shakes his head and opens the door.

“Your text said ‘run across the street for weird lasagne’ so…” Louis peeks inside and Harry remembers to move out of the way and let Louis in the house. 

“Did you run?” 

“Not really.” Louis raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. “Where’s Gabe? Isn’t he here?”

“Oh, um… He’s at work. He got called in, and now he’s staying overnight. So, like…” Louis’ eyes dart around the room and land back on Harry and Harry realizes what he’s saying and what it sort of sounds like. “No, I mean, he…” Harry sighs and says, “It’s our anniversary. Not like, _the anniversary,_ but one of them. He doesn’t know I had plans though, so I made all this food thinking he’d be home…”

“That sucks, man,” Louis says softly. He moves closer to Harry, tilts his head to the side and shrugs before pulling Harry into a hug. When Louis rubs his hand on Harry’s shoulder blade, Harry realizes that he might be able to feel the satin of his babydoll dress through his sweater, and he takes a quick step back. 

While Harry gets their food and pours a second disposable glass of champagne for Louis, who laughs and says ‘happy new year’ when he sees it, a part of his brain keeps repeating _I’m wearing lingerie under my clothes oh my god_ and he wonders if it will slow down or stop at any point or if he needs to go to his room and change. It does eventually stop, and before he finishes his dish of kale and sausage lasagne. 

They open a second bottle of champagne since Harry drank most of the first, and Louis makes him feel better about his ruined anniversary, telling him that he never remembers what month he and Ethan started dating, if it’s March or May. 

The food is delicious, Harry didn’t expect to like it as much as he does, and he maybe gets a little carried away praising himself while dipping pieces of bread in the sauce on his plate, because Louis makes fun of him, asking if only the chef is allowed to compliment the chef or if he can too. So, while he does forget what he’s wearing underneath his clothes, his cheeks remain hot and probably pink a little longer. 

Harry brings out the brownies he got from the grocery store bakery and they eat those with the last of the champagne. They talk about school and Science Club and their pregnant sisters and what started out as a fairly shitty night, turns into a night that Harry wishes didn’t have to end so soon. He shifts his body until he’s sitting sideways, facing Louis, tips his head to rest his temple against the cushion and closes his eyes. When he opens them a second later, Louis is looking down at his phone.

“I should go. It’s almost midnight, Harold.” Louis holds the face of his phone out towards Harry as he stands up off the couch. 

“But I’m not tired. Are you tired?” Harry pouts because he knows that Louis is. He keeps rubbing his eyes and yawning, so Harry’s not even sure why he asks.

Louis smiles and rolls his eyes as he stands up, then walks to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, probably.”

Harry boos him and stands up too, reaching past Louis for the door knob. “Bye, Lou.”

“’Night, Harold.” Louis steps outside, turns and looks at Harry, smirks and says, “You have kale in your teeth. It’s been there forever, but I didn’t tell you ’cause you lied and told me it was spinach.”

With his hand covering his mouth, Harry says, “I hate you.”

“Lies. You love me, Harold.” Louis looks over his shoulder and Harry follows his gaze to his house across the street. “Everyone does.”

“Bye, Louis.” Harry waits for him to walk down the steps before closing the door and running to the bathroom to pick the kale from his teeth. And it’s really obvious, too, Louis must’ve been staring at it all night. He laughs to himself while he brushes his teeth and almost gags, then laughs again after he rinses and spits. 

It’s past midnight, so he calls Gabe while stepping out of his sweatpants and pulling off his socks. His phone goes straight to voicemail, which Harry knows means he’s already gone to sleep for the night, and he bites his lower lip, whining quietly to himself, upset that he lost track of time and forgot to call earlier.

Harry throws himself onto the bed, huffy and annoyed with himself, but his low-level horniness shot up as soon as he took off his sweater and saw himself in the mirror. He wonders what Gabe would think of him wearing lingerie under his clothes while he hung out with Louis, whether he’d be jealous or mad or if he’d think it was hot, and he makes a mental note to add that to his list of things to talk about along with whether or not Gabe will be more… versatile in bed. It’s not as if he minds getting fucked as often as he does, in fact he wouldn’t mind it a little more regularly, but it’s been years since he fucked his husband. 

They already don’t have as active of a sex life as Harry would like, so when they do anything at all, Harry takes what he can get. The thought makes him sad and he pushes it down, the champagne easing the way. 

He shifts around, wiggling his way to middle of the bed while he rubs the tips of his fingers over the lace covering his cock, then rolling to the side and reaching for the drawer. If he’s doing this, he’s doing it well, so he pulls out lube, a string of condoms, and his dildo, which in addition to being glittery and purple, is both longer and thicker than his own erection.

Because of the champagne, Harry makes himself take his time, slowly working one finger at a time inside, until he has to have more. After he rolls the condom on the dildo, he covers it in lube, and strokes himself with that hand. Slowly, Harry works the purple head of his dildo inside, holding it still with one hand while he sits down on it, pausing every centimeter or so to feel the stretch, until the glittery purple balls rest against his own. 

Harry takes one deep breath and another, then his eyes fly open when he remembers the condoms. An obvious solution to contain the mess of his orgasm, but it suddenly occurs to him that a condom might help him with his favorite fantasy. 

When he rolls it on, Harry groans, loud and long and completely into his fantasy already. He strokes himself, keeping his grip tight, and reaches behind himself to pull the dildo out slowly, before plunging it back in in the same rhythm that he fucks his fist. Behind his closed eyelids, Gabe is on his hands and knees, getting fucked the way he usually fucks Harry. 

Every time Harry drags the head of the dildo across his prostate, his hips buck out of control, and the tight grip he has on the base of his cock knocks against his balls. He comes after a few minutes, grinding down on the dildo, unable to say anything other than fuck.

The dildo slides out easily, but the empty feeling translates to a drunken useless horniness, and Harry groans, knocking the dildo to the floor. He carefully takes off the condom and disposes of it, then rolls onto his stomach pressing his face between their two pillows. Almost as soon as he does that, he thinks of rimming Gabe, and hugs both pillows tightly to his head. It’s something he’s only let Harry do twice, fairly early on in their marriage, and that he doesn’t like, so Harry respects that. But inside his fantasy…

His husband begs him to do it, lifting his ass up in the air a few inches before rutting against the mattress. Reaching back to grab hold of Harry’s hair and pull him in, riding his face. 

Harry clenches down on nothing, but the dildo’s on the floor, and he wants to come fast. He slides his hand between his cock and the mattress and fucks it leisurely for a moment while he slips two fingers in his ass and drifts back into his fantasy.

Harry licks and sucks and moans against his warm skin, the mess he’s making drips down his chin, and when Harry comes for the second time to another moan and mumbled words, he recognizes the voice in his fantasy just before he passes out. 

÷ 


	8. Chapter 8

÷

The first of February falls on a Friday, which doesn’t really matter, all things considered. When Harry realizes that, he blows a raspberry at the wall calendar in lounge. 

“Gross, Harold. Could you not?” Harry turns to Louis and when Louis doesn’t look up from his desk where he’s sorting through science trivia questions, he crosses his arms over his chest and waits. “What?” Louis asks, still not looking up. 

“My birthday is Friday.”

“I know,” Louis says, and Harry’s quite suddenly annoyed. 

Louis has yet to look at him and the short manner he’s had all afternoon is grating on Harry’s nerves. Harry clears his throat, covering his mouth with his fist, and says, “Okay.” 

“Harold,” Louis rolls his eyes and stands up, tapping a stack of paper against the desk. “What do we do on Fridays?”

“The bar or Zayn and Niall’s place.”

“Do you think we’d let your birthday go by unnoticed?” Louis asks through narrowed eyes. 

“No, I didn’t, um… I didn’t know if you knew it was my birthday.”

“Don’t be stupid, of course I knew.”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t know yours.”

“What did I just say, Harold?”

Harry opens his mouth to complain, feelings actually hurt, but before he can say anything, Liam walks through the open door and says, “Find the right questions, Tommo?”

“Yep,” Louis says, passing him half of the stack of paper, and following him back to his classroom for the Science Club meeting. 

Harry goes back to reading through the essays at his desk in his classroom, still annoyed by Louis’ comments about his birthday.

÷

On Friday, Gabe wakes Harry up with a blow job, and before he climbs into his truck to leave for the hospital, Gabe kisses him, palming his ass greedily with both hands, making Harry squeak and sending him down the driveway and across the street with pink cheeks. 

Louis waits for him to buckle his seatbelt, then hands him a banana muffin with an unlit candle on top. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Lou.” Harry grins wide over the top of his muffin. “Do you want some?”

When Louis shakes his head, Harry shrugs and sits back to eat his birthday muffin. 

The students are wonderful all day. Harry doesn’t send a single person to the principal’s office and every kid he calls on to answer a question, answers it. It’s like a miracle teaching day where nothing goes wrong and Harry has to wonder if the others said or did something to make it happen. 

On the way home after school, the snowflakes that have been continuously, yet slowly falling all day begin to fall faster. Harry can’t stop smiling. Every few minutes he turns to Louis and says, “Snow!”

Which Louis automatically follows up every time with, “Happy birthday, Harold.”

By the time Louis pulls into his driveway, the yards and roofs of their neighborhood are mostly covered with snow. 

Harry’s hardly gotten through his front door when his phone vibrates in his pocket. And vibrates again as he’s pulling it free from his pocket, and a third time while he’s reading the first two texts from Louis. 

The first tells him to dress for the weather, the second tells him to bring something like a plastic laundry basket, and the third says to bring a change of clothes. Harry responds with three thumbs up emojis and goes to his bedroom to change. 

Instead of a laundry basket, Harry grabs two of the large, rectangular plastic bins that he recently unpacked. He shoves a pair of sweats and a t-shirt into a shopping bag, but he can’t find anything other than his regular hat and coat and jeans and sweaters to wear. So he just wears that. As soon as Harry leaves his house he sees Louis. He’s standing beside his van waving Harry across the street and saying, “Don’t run! You can’t wear that, Harold.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, frowning and shoving the plastic bins into Louis’ arms as soon as he’s close enough. 

“Just… Come on.” Louis walks towards his front door, and Harry follows. 

He ends up in Louis’ rainboots with extra socks for warmth, the clothes he had on, a pair of Louis’ mittens, and Louis’ puffy coat, which is too small, but works well enough. Still, he only wears it because Louis wears a coat of Lottie’s that she left at his house and it’s just as small on him, so they both look ridiculous. 

They carry the plastic bins between them up the road to Niall and Zayn’s house. Louis leads him up to the door where they drop their bags, and around the side of the houseLiam, Zayn and Niall are waiting with rectangular plastic laundry baskets in their hands. 

“What are we—”

“Sledding!” Louis separates their plastic bins and hurries away with his, leaving Harry confused, but only for a moment. Because then Louis drops his bin onto the ground and nudges it over to the top of the hill with his toe, then climbs inside and sits down with his knees folded up in front of him. 

The bin jerks forward, a few inches at a time, as Louis throws his body weight against the front of the bin, until he takes off. He speeds down the hill to the bottom where he tips over onto his side and falls out of the bin. 

Harry laughs and waits for Louis to climb up the hill to attempt it himself. Louis gives him a push and before he knows it, he’s at the bottom of the hill, rainboots flying through the air. He gets them back on quickly and only falls a few times on his way to the top. 

“I should’ve let you go first, since it’s your birthday.” Louis brushes snow off of Harry’s hat, then drops his hand and turns to shove Niall. “Go on, Nialler. Your turn.”

They ride down the hill in their laundry baskets and plastic bins until Harry’s pants are soaked and he’s shivering. They all go inside the basement from the side door instead of the garage door, and it’s actually warm in there. Harry unclenches his fists and steps out of Louis’ boots. The extra socks kept him warm and he’s pretty sure he can just peel off the damp and cold top sock, since he didn’t bring another pair. 

They hang their coats up down there, then trudge up the stairs, into the house, and split off into different directions. Niall and Zayn go to their room, Liam and Louis go upstairs, so Harry just peels his wet jeans off in the living room and lays them in front of the fireplace. His briefs are wet too, and cold, so he quickly drops them to the floor and steps into his favorite grey sweatpants, then pulls his sweater and shirt off too. The t-shirt he brought to change into is thin and old and too short and he probably should’ve thought to bring a sweater or a hoodie or something because, when he looks down, he’s one hundred percent sure that everyone is going to be able to see his dick through his pants. 

Harry’s standing in the front of the fireplace, wishing he brought more clothes, when Louis says, “Here, Harold.” 

When Harry turns, Louis throws a big, soft, black hooded sweatshirt at him, and Harry grabs for it, knocking it to the floor instead. He picks it up and shakes it out. “Thanks, man.” It’s big on Harry, and he wonders if it’s Ethan’s, so he asks, “Is this yours?”

“Yeah. Grabbed it when I saw what was in your bag.”

“Oh,” Harry says, linking his hands together inside the front pocket of the sweatshirt. It doesn’t completely cover his dick, but it’s less obvious this way. “Thanks.”

“You said thanks already, Harold. It’s your birthday.” Louis heaves a put upon sigh just as Liam, Niall and Zayn enter the room. “Boys, into the kitchen.”

Sitting on the corner of the kitchen counter is a glass cake stand with a massive, white, fluffy-looking cake. Harry cups both hands to his mouth and walks over to peer through the glass dome covering the cake. In messy green piping on top of the fluffy white cake, are the words “Happy Birthday, Harold!” 

“Did you decorate this?” Harry asks Louis, who’s watching him when Harry turns to look for him.

Louis scoffs, holding both of his palms towards Harry. “I made that cake with my own two hands, Harold.”

Harry nods and says, “Of course you did.” 

“No big deal, really. They didn’t have any carrot cakes at the bakery.” Louis looks away, reaching for his drink. 

Zayn gets Harry his favorite beer and a slice of pizza and sits him down in the middle of the sofa, with what looks like dozens of DVDs on the coffee table. “We asked everyone we knew if they had any rom com DVDs, and, um… they did.”

It’s impossible to choose one, but Harry is able to narrow it down to _Roman Holiday, When Harry Met Sally, Groundhog Day, The Princess Bride,_ and _Love, Actually._ While he closes his eyes, Louis moves them around on the table, and Harry reaches out to touch one. 

_“Groundhog Day,”_ Louis says. 

Liam and Louis sit on either side of Harry on the couch, and Zayn and Niall cuddle up together in the big chair in the corner, and they watch _Groundhog Day_ while they eat pizza and drink beer and _The Princess Bride_ while they eat cake. When the second movie is over, Harry and Liam and Louis bundle back up in their snow clothes, and walk down the hill, taking extra care not to fall. 

After Harry crosses the road, he turns around and before Louis can disappear into his house, Harry calls out, “Thanks for today!”

“Happy birthday, Harold!” Louis lifts one hand and waves before shutting his door and Harry’s standing outside alone. 

He walks up through the front yard, too afraid of slipping and falling in the driveway, and locks the door behind himself as soon as he gets in the house. Louis’ too small coat lands on the floor in front of the couch, and Harry kicks his rain boots off before he heads down the hall to fall into bed. 

÷

February is Harry’s favorite month, since it starts off with his birthday, and halfway through is Valentine’s Day. The only problem is that it’s over too soon. 

This year, Valentine’s Day falls on a Thursday, and Harry made sure to point that out to Gabe more than once, and to emphasize how convenient it is that he’ll be off that day. It’s all he can do. 

When he walks in his house after school, it’s warm and smells like flowers. He drops his things on the couch and looks at the fireplace. There’s a roaring fire in it, and there are a dozen red roses in a plain glass vase sitting in the middle of the dining room table. 

“Hey,” Harry says when Gabe meets him at the end of the hall.

“Hey, babe, happy Valentine’s.” Gabe leans in and kisses Harry on the cheek, then walks past him towards the kitchen. He looks back over his shoulder when he pulls open the fridge door and asks, “Wine or beer?”

“Wine. Thanks, um…” Harry can feel his eyebrows pinching together, so he tries to relax them and rubs his index finger over the lines there. He’s not sure what he expected, but he feels like he should be happier than he is. Maybe it’s the lingering headache he’s been ignoring since this afternoon. He sips the glass of white wine that Gabe hands him and squeezes the back of his neck, trying to release some of the tension there. “Happy Valentine’s to you too. Thank you for the flowers, they’re, um…”

“Twelve roses for twelve years, yeah?” Gabe raises his eyebrows and Harry nods.

“They’re beautiful.” 

Harry finishes his wine and Gabe takes him to the bedroom, tells him to undress, and get in the tub. There are so many bubbles that Harry can’t see the water beneath them, and they smell like cake. He lays back in the foam, resting his head against the cool tile, and closes his eyes. 

When he steps out, dripping onto the bathmat, almost an hour later, Harry’s stomach rumbles. He dries off before he starts to shiver and dresses in the sweatpants and t-shirt that Gabe left for him on the bed. 

“You made dinner?” Harry asks from the kitchen doorway, while he watches Gabe close the oven door and turn it off. 

“Yeah, pizza!” Gabe turns and grins and Harry smiles, even though he doesn’t quite understand.

“You made pizza?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too difficult actually. Dough is kind of gross, nothing like cookie dough.” He laughs and hands Harry a slice of pizza on a plate. 

“Thanks…” Harry lifts it to his mouth and takes a bite. It’s too hot, but even while he’s trying not to burn the skin off the roof of his mouth, he can tell it’s really good. When he finally swallows, he says, “Amazing, babe. Thanks so much.” 

They eat in the living room and as soon as Gabe sits down, he reaches for the remote, and Harry expects to watch ESPN all evening, but he turns on Netflix and scrolls until he finds the romantic comedies, then hands the remote to Harry and tells him to pick one. While they watch, Harry alternately focuses on the movie, and then thinks about the day so far. It took him a bit to realize he’d been expecting to be disappointed at first, but the repetition of that expectation, every time Gabe does something thoughtful, hits hard. 

Harry pulls at his lower lip until it starts to hurt a bit, then he slides his hands between his knees and presses them together tightly. If he didn’t have school in the morning, he’d have more wine. He sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch, looking over at Gabe until he looks back.

When Gabe turns his head, he says, “Sucks about Louis and Ethan.”

“Hmm?” Harry frowns at him.

“About them breaking up. It sucks. They were together for like a few years, I guess.”

“Yeah…” Harry says and looks back at the television. “That does suck.”

They don’t speak for the rest of the movie, and at some point, though Harry’s not sure when, Gabe falls asleep. He lets the fire burn down, then turns off the television and cleans up the mess from dinner before waking him up and guiding him back to their bedroom. 

It takes longer than usual for Harry to fall asleep that night. 

÷

Friday morning, when Harry’s alarm goes off, he’s already in the shower. He dresses as fast as he can, shoving toast in his mouth while zipping up his pants, and at ten minutes to six, he’s standing outside Louis’ van. It’s running, but it’s empty, so Harry puts his things inside and shuts the door, taking his travel mug of coffee with him to climb Louis’ steps and knock on his door.

There’s no answer, so he waits a minute or two before knocking harder a second time. Before he can lower his fist, the door swings open and Louis is standing there, soaking wet, holding the door with one hand and two corners of a towel tightly in his other.

“Jesus, Harold, is there an emergency?” 

“No, um…” Harry stares at Louis’ face, afraid to look anywhere else. 

Louis narrows his eyes and spins around, walking away from Harry towards his bedroom. Following almost immediately, Harry steps into the house, shutting the door behind himself. “Sorry, I—”

“I can’t hear you! Give me a second!” Louis calls from his room, so Harry sips his coffee. 

A moment later, Louis walks into the room half-dressed. Harry’s eyes dart away, and when he can’t find anything to hold his gaze to his right, he looks to his left, and then down at his hands gripping his cup. 

“What is it?” Louis asks, and Harry lifts his head, fighting his blush. 

“Put some clothes on and I’ll tell you,” Harry says and looks back down again.

Louis doesn’t say anything, but Harry glances up after a bit, and watches while he quietly buttons his shirt and tucks it in, waiting for him to finish. As soon as he zips his pants, Louis says, “You’re early. What’s going on?”

Suddenly, Harry feels like a bit of an asshole. If Louis doesn’t want to tell him about Ethan, he has every right.

“Harold, come on.” Louis pours his giant mug of coffee and grabs his things, ushering Harry out the door. “Did you sleepwalk over here or something?”

Harry doesn’t open his mouth, except to sip his coffee, until they’ve been on the road for a few minutes, and are stopped at a light. Then it’s to say, “Why don’t you use a travel mug?”

Slowly, Louis looks over at him. “You were banging on my door ten minutes early to ask me that? I don’t like them. They’re never supposed to go in the dishwasher and I always ruin them.”

“Oh…” Harry never considered that. He always hand washes his at school and it’s dry by lunchtime, when he puts it in his bag. “Hey, Lou? Did you and Ethan break up?”

Louis sighs and looks out of the driver’s side window, then turns to look at Harry before facing the road again. “Yeah.”

“When?”

“Why?” Louis asks quietly. 

“Sorry, I just…” Harry crosses his arms, then uncrosses them and pushes the lock button back and forth twice before folding his arms again. “Gabe told me last night and like, I was just surprised. ’Cause like, I don’t know… He seemed to think it was like common knowledge, or at least that I knew, so…”

“We broke up a few weeks ago. End of January.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Louis shrugs one shoulder and says, “Didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Then why’d you tell Gabe?” 

At first, he doesn’t answer, and Harry wonders if he didn’t ask loud enough for Louis to hear, but then Louis shakes his head slightly and says, “He asked what we were doing for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh…” Harry watches him for a second, wanting to comfort him, but unsure how to go about it. He’s never actually dealt with a breakup personally, and whenever Gemma went through one when they were younger, he just did whatever she asked him to—made her tea, brought her trashy magazines, let her put lipstick on him, talked shit about whoever broke her heart—until she felt better. Chances are that a teenage girl and a man in his thirties don’t handle heartbreak the same. Still. “You should’ve told me. I shouldn’t have to hear about it from Gabe.”

Louis scoffs, shaking his head, and says, “I can’t believe you.”

“Well…” Harry doesn’t know what else to say. He’s feels weirdly territorial over his friends, especially Louis, since they ride together every day. And he doesn’t know how to explain.

“Gabe _asked me,_ Harry. He stopped by last week and we were talking about… um, he asked what Ethan and I were planning to do and I told him we broke up. That’s all. I don’t understand why you’re mad at me because my boyfriend doesn’t want to move in with me.” Louis sucks in a sharp breath and says, “Ex-boyfriend.”

Instantly, guilt fills Harry, and he lays his hand gently on Louis’ forearm. “I’m sorry, Louis. I don’t… I don’t know what I was thinking. I was being like, totally selfish. You guys were together for a long time and I was just… I was mad at the way I found out. That’s stupid. I’m… I’m sorry.” 

Louis nods and chews on his lip, and Harry feels like shit. They’re almost to school before either of them speaks again. 

“Apology accepted, okay?” Louis says, smiling over at him, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief.

“Okay. I’m really sorry. I was a dick.” Harry picks at his nails for a second, then stretches his hands out in front of him in his lap. “You’re like, my best friend. I’ve never really had one before, which is sad considering I’m like thirty-two, but…”

“Harry, I swear, if you thank me—”

“I think I was just bothered, like you didn’t trust me or didn’t consider me a good enough friend. And then Gabe knew, and I was just… I was confused. I’m so sorry. This is still…” Harry smacks his hand against his leg, then balls it into a fist, hitting himself in the thigh again. 

“What?” Louis reaches over and taps his fingertips against the back of Harry’s hand. 

“I’m still making it about me. Sorry. Sorry Ethan doesn’t want to live with you.” Harry whispers the last few words, clears his throat, tips his head back, and closes his eyes, thinking about Louis’ house and how comfortable it is and warm and inviting and he can’t understand why Ethan wouldn’t want to live there. He waits until Louis parks and turns off the ignition to say, “His loss.” 

Louis smiles at him again, but it looks a little sad, which Harry figures is understandable. 

Somehow, Harry manages to keep himself from apologizing over and over. He can tell it annoys Louis, just like he doesn’t like it when Harry thanks him repeatedly, so he stops himself. And everytime he catches himself about to say something apologetic, he says something positive instead. 

At first, he compliments Louis on things like Science Club and how much his students respect him, but the beaming smile on Louis’ face when he talks about how hard the Science Team has worked this year, and the engaging way he explains how difficult he found teaching at first, Harry can’t help but keep it up all day. 

The following week, he isn’t as heavy handed with it, but he drops little comments and compliments whenever it seems like Louis is feeling down. It sort of becomes a habit, and he finds himself complimenting other people too, especially Liam, who giggles shyly every time.

As much as Harry loves February, he hates March. It seems to drag on forever, and they don’t have a single extra day off of school. Snow and ice melt and from one day to the next, Harry goes from being careful not to slip on the ice, to being careful not to step in the rain puddles. 

Mid-March, St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Sunday, so Niall plans a themed game night, which means that he buys every gimmicky green thing at the store. Harry and Gabe slosh their way up the road to Niall and Zayn’s house, and Harry tries not to look at anything he eats that night. The only themed game is bingo, which Niall handmade cards for, and which they play over and over until every person gets bingo at least once. It takes all night. 

When Liam shouts, “Bingo!” and Gabe congratulates him too exuberantly and knocks both of their cards sideways, Harry loses it, too drunk for a school night on green beer. He catches Louis’ eye and finds him laughing and wiping tears from his face, and that sends him into another fit of giggles. 

÷ 

“You’re not going to want to wake up in the morning,” Gabe says as he and Harry and Louis walk home, and it strikes Harry as hilarious because he _never_ wants to wake up in the morning. A few beers doesn’t change that. He snorts and the laughter bubbles out of him, half of it somehow coming out of his nose, which makes him laugh harder until he has to stop walking and bend over to catch his breath. 

He looks up and over at Louis, who has his hand up over his mouth, covering the snickers that Harry can still hear, and he smiles wide, proud that he made him laugh, even unintentionally. Once they’re home, Harry pushes himself into Gabe’s space, reaches around with both hands and digs his fingers into the muscles of his ass. 

“Let me…” Harry starts. “We never…” Harry bites his lip. “Really want to fuck you, babe.”

Gabe shakes his head and laughs and Harry takes a step backwards. “Harry, you know it’s not my favorite.”

“Yeah…” Harry says, but he can’t help but frown. _Not his favorite._ It feels like so much more than that, but Harry pushes that train of thought aside.

Instead, Gabe curls up behind him in bed and jerks him off roughly. After Harry‘s orgasm, he rolls onto his front and Gabe squeezes his ass, presses his cheeks together, and ruts against him until he comes. He forces himself into the bathroom where he cleans their come from his body, while Gabe changes the sheets on their bed. 

The next morning, Harry is quiet the whole ride to school. 

÷ 

Harry walks through the storage room, and quietly slips into Louis’ classroom to observe Science Club that week.

The kids are all decked out in lab coats and protective goggles, and as soon as Louis sees him standing in the back, he throws a pair of goggles at him.

“Put ’em on, Harold. Protect those gorgeous green eyes.” Louis taps his own goggles and goes back to what he was doing before. 

It’s probably something Louis would say to anyone, probably something he said to Liam earlier that day, but it hits Harry strangely and he frowns. He sits on the lab table in the back, goggles on, legs pulled up and crossed, and messes around on his phone, mostly ignoring everything else. 

The kids’ volume increases whenever they successfully complete an experiment. Shouts and fist bumps and high fives and excited whoops take over for a moment, and Harry chuckles, looking up. 

The first thing he sees is Louis and the first thing he notices is that Louis is glancing over at him, smiling. Harry scowls at him and drops his chin, staring at the black screen of his phone. 

When they get home that evening, Harry says a quick goodbye, and goes straight for his front door. 

“Hey, babe?” Harry says as soon as he walks into the house. “I know it’s like… we’re not quite ready yet, but can we maybe go look at some open houses this weekend? Just to see what it’s like.”

Gabe stands up from the couch and stretches his arms overhead, then drops them back down and says, “Sure thing, babe. Might be fun.”

On Sunday, they visit every open house within a few miles. They spend most of their day driving to different neighborhoods and following real estate agents around. It does actually turn out to be fun and he learns a lot about what Gabe likes in certain houses, what they both like.

That afternoon, Harry starts up his car and drives it around the neighborhood to make sure it’s still running alright, and that night, he texts Louis that he doesn’t need to ride with him to work anymore. It feels wrong to lie to Louis, but Harry isn’t comfortable talking to him about the problems he and Gabe are having. The next morning, he drives himself to school, coat on, because it’s still not warm out, but it’s easily bearable. When he has time, he’ll figure out the heater. Maybe next fall. 

Monday during lunch, Louis takes him aside and asks if everything is okay. “Just wanted to be sure I didn’t like, upset you or something.”

“No, not at all,” Harry reassures him, shaking his head. “Just sort of missed driving. And it’s getting warmer, so…”

Louis nods and says, “Okay, Harold. If the temps drop again, just… You can always ride with me.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Louis.” Harry smiles at him, but as soon as Louis disappears into the storage room, the smile disappears. 

÷ 

Harry dives back into looking for licensed adoption agencies. Once he has a few on his list, he searches for an attorney, cross-checking whether or not they also practice real estate law. Harry checks their library’s website for adoption related books. He spends his free time reading them, with breaks to eat and read adoption forum threads about homeownership on his phone. 

“I’ve been reading.” Harry’s heart feels like it might explode, so he takes a sip of coffee, because what he needs is more caffeine. He watches Gabe eat his scrambled eggs and toast. “I’ve been reading up on adoption and—”

“Harry—”

“I know. I know, Gabe. I know we have to wait. But what I’m saying is that, while it’s not like, required, it looks better if you own your home.” Harry holds his hands up and takes a breath. “So, I just want you to be more open to the idea of buying. That’s all. Okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s fine.” Gabe nods and goes back to his eggs.

“Cool,” Harry says and scratches his nose. 

“I guess we could always rent it out if we moved.” 

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry starts to agree, but then he says, “It wouldn’t make much sense though. Like, if we bought a house, and then wanted to buy like, a bigger one or a smaller one or something, we’d want to sell one to buy the other.”

“No,” Gabe says, waving his hand in front of his face. “I mean, like if we move somewhere else. Like, I don’t know, Canada or someplace.”

“Canada?”

“Just like, hypothetically.”

“I don’t…” Harry rubs the tips of his index and middle fingers against his temples and closes his eyes. “When are we hypothetically moving to Canada?”

Gabe shrugs, pops the last bite of toast into his mouth, and says, “Don’t know. A year? Two?”

“Are you seriously telling me you want to move to Canada in a couple of years?”

“No,” Gabe shakes his head and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “Not Canada, but somewhere. Probably.”

“Probably,” Harry says, pushing down the urge to yell. “We live _here._ We picked this city. Like, I researched. We talked about it. We’re supposed to raise a family here, Gabe!”

“That’s so far off though—”

“It’s not!” Harry shouts. “It’s not far off! We’re in our thirties, babe. And it can take years to adopt. And if we’re going to do that, we have to show that we can give a kid a stable home. We can’t do that if keep moving!”

Gabe blinks at him, sets his plate down on the little side table, and says, “You’ve thought of that?”

“I think about it all the time!” Harry yells, standing up from the couch and walking away. This is not the way the conversation was supposed to go. He turns back around and takes a step towards the couch, where Gabe is still sitting, and asks, “Do you love me?”

“Yes, of course. Of course I do. Harry! This is… I’m not…” He shakes his head as he stands up and picks up his plate. “I _do_ love you. Of course, I love you. How could I not? But—”

“Are you cheating on me?”

“No, fuck no. What the fuck?” Gabe dumps his dish into the sink and says, “This conversation has gone from attending open houses for fun to me cheating on you while you’re at home with a baby. I’m not… I’d _never_ cheat on you. But I’m _not_ ready for a baby.”

“When then? Because we said once you had a job, we’d settle down, buy a house, adopt…”

“I’m not ready—”

“Then when? Because if it can take us two years to adopt… Are you saying you don’t think you’ll be ready then?”

“No,” Gabe says without pause, shaking his head.

Harry takes one deep, slow breath, and then another. “Three years?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? That’d mean starting the whole… process in a year?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, fighting the sense of relief that’s starting to creep in. 

“So, like…” Gabe takes a step closer and says, “Casually looking at houses now, saving for another year, and then we see?”

Harry purposefully ignores the vagueness of his words, needing the conversation to be over, and nods. 

“Harry, are you…” Gabe reaches out and rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry shrugs Gabe’s hand off and pours more coffee into his cup. “I’m fine. Promise.” 

÷

With April comes teacher contracts for the next year, and Harry hasn't heard a word from anyone about Janie, other than that all three of her babies are beautiful. He doesn’t know if there’s even a job to hope for. 

In just a few short weeks, he’s gone from feeling like he hit the jackpot with his friends and his social life, to feeling alone and lonely, and there’s nothing he can do. All of that was a distraction and probably part of the reason that things with Gabe went off-track in the first place. He needs to focus on his marriage, and put all of his energy into that. 

When he gets home, he researches marriage counseling. Trying to look at their relationship objectively is impossible from the inside, and he doesn’t think he’s able to fix things and make things better on his own. 

Harry spends hours trying to find a counselor that he thinks they’ll both like and that can work with their hectic schedules. It takes him the entire week to do it. And on Friday afternoon, when he rushes out of the school, and climbs into his car, he calls and makes an appointment for the following Thursday.

That Sunday morning, Harry doesn’t eat breakfast, and he doesn’t make anything for Gabe either. He sips his coffee and waits for Gabe to wake up, and as soon as he does, Harry’s stomach turns. While Gabe makes his coffee, Harry wonders if he’ll actually throw up before he can speak.

“I think we should go to marriage counseling.” Harry fights to keep his voice steady.

Gabe frowns. “I… Why?”

“I think it would help. We—”

“We’re fine though. We don’t need it.”

Harry prepared for that sort of reaction, so he takes a breath, and says, “I get that. I do. It’s not easy to think that we might need help with—”

“I don’t want to.”

Harry jerks back.

“No, it’s not… I don’t want…” He runs his hands through his hair and drops his chin down. “I’ve been thinking, okay? Since last week. And I… I don’t know. I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t know if I’ll be ready to start… everything in a year. Or even two.”

“You don’t know? Like, don’t you think a counselor might be able to help with that?”

“I don’t know.” Gabe finishes his coffee and puts the cup in the sink. “I, um, actually have to go in to work. The hospital called. That’s what I… I was coming out to tell you.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, and watches him walk back to their bedroom. 

÷

On a Wednesday, during Harry’s planning period with Liam, Principal Watts calls him to her office. While he walks down the hall, he tries not to show his nerves, but his palms are sweaty and he can’t help but wipe them on his pants. He counts his breaths in an effort not to hyperventilate and knocks on her office door.

“You’ve been leaving early,” Principal Watts says before Harry can sit down. She laces her hands together on her desk and watches him. 

Harry nods and takes a seat. “I have, um, since I’ve been able to drive my car again. I’m not technically supposed to be here more than eight hours since I’m a substitute.” 

“Oh, well, that’s true. I’ll be honest, it’s hard to think of you like that. You fit in well, I think. Your team seems to agree, as they all gave you glowing recommendations.”

“I…”

“Mrs. Eddingham has decided not to come back in the fall.”

“Who?”

“Janie. She’s decided to stay home with her triplets, so we’d like to offer you the position. Full time.”

Harry feels hot and tingly, the relief of not actually being in trouble for leaving early, and the absolute joy of getting what he’s been trying so hard not to hope for all year, combine and he’s just a mess. He accepts.

As soon as they finish up, and Harry shakes her hand despite how damp his own is, he hurries back to his classroom, fanning himself with the paper copy of his new contract.

Liam is waiting in the hall and follows him inside. “Did they…”

“Shh…” Harry holds a finger to his lips while he nods. “I don’t… I don’t want to tell anyone. Can this be between us for now?” 

“Yeah, okay. I get it.” Liam holds his arms out wide and Harry leans forward into his embrace. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks, Li.” Harry sniffles and takes a step back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

The bell rings and Harry makes it through the rest of the day without spilling his secret and leaves shortly after the school day ends. 

÷


	9. Chapter 9

÷

Harry sort of drifts around their house wondering what the hell is supposed to happen now. He loves Gabe, he knows that much. And Gabe loves him too. But their marriage isn’t what he thought it was and he doesn’t know how to handle it. They both ignore it pretty easily, which Harry notes is probably how they got twelve years into a relationship without noticing that they weren’t walking beside each other on the same path. 

Gabe asks about school and Harry tells him about the upcoming standardized testing and Liam and how they plan to help each other through it. For a little while, after dinner, Harry sits on the couch and watches ESPN with Gabe, but eventually he gets bored and wanders back to the bedroom, and reads one of his library books. Around eleven, he gets up to pee and brush his teeth. Gabe’s asleep on the couch again, but this time Harry doesn’t wake him. 

They don’t fight or argue, but they don’t talk either, they just live alongside each other taking up the same spaces, but at different times. 

It’s really getting warmer outside, so Harry starts pulling boxes out of the guest room closet, figuring he’ll start packing up their winter things over the weekend. Then he can start pulling out his summer clothes. While he’s moving boxes, Gabe walks in, and leans against the wall. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Harry opens one bin and pulls out a pile of folded t-shirts. 

“Packing.”

“Not packing. I’m going to switch out our winter clothes this weekend.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Gabe pushes away from the wall and says, “I got a, um… job offer.”

“A different ER?” Harry raises his eyebrows and steadies a stack of sweaters he left on the window seat, grabbing the one that fell off the top and folding it in his lap.

“Yeah.”

“Which hospital?” There are two others in town, closer to the house. “I know the one—”

“Not here. Back in Ohio.”

Harry stands up and lets the sweater fall from his lap. 

“I want to take it. It’s more money, plus working with some of my old colleagues…” Gabe coughs and says, “It’ll be good, I think.”

“I…”

“I mean, I figured we said at least a year, right? And your job ends soon, so…” 

“I signed a contract,” Harry whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I signed a contract,” he says, raising his voice a little. “At my school. Yesterday. I…”

“You can get out of it though. Just tell them—”

“No, Gabe.” Harry shakes his head and says it again, “No. I’m not moving to Ohio. I’m not.”

Gabe looks dumbstruck. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again and says, “I can check around. Maybe go south again.”

“I’m not moving, Gabe. I’m _not_ breaking my contract and I’m _not_ leaving. I _like_ it here! I don’t understand. I want to stay. Why…”

“I… Harry, I…” Gabe leans back against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor. “I thought…”

Harry steps closer, towering over him where he sits on the floor. “In two years, will you be ready for a baby?”

Quickly, Gabe shakes his head. “I already said—”

“Three?” 

Gabe shakes his head again.

It’s impossible to control his voice, and it cracks when he asks, “Four?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know.” Gabe drops his head to his knees and wraps his arms around his legs. 

“Five?” Harry whispers futilely.

Gabe lifts his head and meets Harry’s eyes, flinching at the sight of his tears. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

Harry closes his eyes and clenches his fists and when he opens his eyes, he walks straight out of the room. 

He goes for his first run in months. His body screams through most of it, but he doesn’t stop, and neither do his tears. It starts to rain a few minutes into his run, and all Harry can do is look up at the sky and laugh.

He avoids Gabe for the rest of the day. When he tries to apologize, Harry snaps, screaming, “How long? How long have you felt this way? Knowing what I wanted?”

All Gabe does is shake his head and go back to the couch. 

Alone in their bedroom that night, Harry blinks up at the ceiling as an old memory comes to mind. He climbs out of bed, walks out to the living room, and says, “Remember when we got married and we were going to write our own vows, but nothing was poetic enough?”

“Yeah, I remember. We just repeated what the officiant said.”

“That morning, when we signed the marriage license, I said—”

“Babe…”

Harry holds one hand up and continues, “I said that I knew they weren’t our official vows, but that I promised to love you, to support you, to be true to you, and to do whatever it might take to keep us together, because I wanted to build a life with you, to make a home with you, and have a family with you.”

Gabe covers his face with his hands and slowly slides them up until he’s pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. “I’m sorry.”

÷

The next day is a blur. Harry gets to work and doesn’t remember the drive at all. It’s the day before spring break, all of the kids and most of the teachers are mentally on vacation already, half of the students aren’t even at school, and since they won’t be back in class for a week and a half, there’s no point in doing any real work. Because he can’t just let them run wild, Harry borrows the _Pride and Prejudice_ DVD from the library, and plays each class the first forty-five minutes of it. 

While his students are distracted, Harry takes the opportunity to step across the hall to the teacher’s lounge to make a phone call. The movie plays all afternoon, and he carries on text conversations with his mom and Gemma, neither of whom know anything that’s gone on in the last few weeks. 

All of his thoughts and feelings about Gabe and their marriage and his own shortcomings have remained confined to the inside of his head. And he just can’t face an entire week at home with nothing but his brain and his husband for company. 

Gemma’s kids are too young for school, but their preschool is closed the same week as Harry’s high school, so she’ll spend most of that time at their mom’s house. She’s getting close to the baby’s due date, and every time he talks to her, she seems more uncomfortable. Her boss sent her home a few weeks ago and asked her to work remotely until her maternity leave starts, so she’s been taking advantage of that, working from her couch or bed most days. 

It’s become increasingly easy for Harry to skip out on things like Friday nights at the bar. When he leaves school that Friday, he doesn’t even notice until he’s halfway home that no one invited him this week, and while part of him feels sad and a little rejected, he knows it’s for the best. 

That evening, Harry finishes switching out their winter and summer clothes. On their bed, he piles like with like, and the bins that were filled with shorts and tanks and swimsuits are now packed full of sweaters and coats and heavier clothes. When he carries the boxes of winter clothes into the spare room, he stacks them against the wall, then goes looking for a marker. 

He folded and stored all of his and Gabe’s winter things separately, so he sticks a piece of duct tape to the lid of each of the boxes, and labels them with their names. He steps back and stares at them for a moment, a brief glimpse of the future of their relationship, and he feels hollow.

When Gabe comes home from work, Harry’s in the kitchen, taking some of his frustration out on the burnt on cheese on their large casserole dish. He stops just inside the door, his keys jingling lightly where they dangle from his fingers, and Harry can feel Gabe watching him. The spot between his shoulder blades itches, but he ignores it, finishes cleaning the dish, and puts it away. When he finally turns around, Gabe is on the daybed in the living room, the television is on, and there’s nothing else to say. 

Harry goes to bed alone and wakes up the same way and wonders if the rest of his life will be like that. The sensation that the rug has been pulled out from under him hasn’t stopped. He feels unsteady and unsure about everything, and hopes it’s something that he can adjust to, or that maybe it will lessen over time. 

Everything that he thought they were headed for, every plan for their future, every target he thought they’d been aiming at for the last twelve years, has suddenly disappeared completely. One third of his life spent building and working towards what he’s always considered his ultimate goal, gone. 

Saturday morning, he takes his car to the mechanic he spoke to Friday afternoon, and waits on the wobbly chair in the lobby, drinking bitter coffee, and crossing all of his fingers that the tune-up won’t be too expensive. A couple of hours later, Harry drives away a few hundred dollars lighter, but with a new set of brakes, an oil change, and an estimate for repairing the heater. 

Harry packs his bag for the week and puts it and his laptop in the passenger seat of his car. Before he leaves, he sends Gabe a short text telling him that he’s going to spend the week at his mom’s house, that he needs some time, and asks him not to call or text. At the bottom of his driveway, he looks left and then right, and pulls onto the road. His sunglasses make it easier to pretend that he doesn’t see Louis waving at him from his front yard. 

÷

“So, just the one baby?” Harry says with a smirk. 

From across the room, Gemma narrows her eyes and he can hear her grit her teeth. “You’re not original. Every time I go out in public, people ask if I’m having twins, or say shit like ‘you look fit to burst’ which…”

“What’d you say to that?” 

“Told him I was eight months pregnant and asked him when he was due with his.”

Harry snorts. “Did you really?”

“You bet your ass I did.” Gemma rubs circles on her belly and the fabric of her dress bunches and slides with her hand. Harry gets a little lost in it, partly shocked at how much larger she is than she was in December, and partly hypnotized by the swirling of the pattern on her dress as it moves. “So, why are you here?”

There’s no reason that Harry should’ve expected Gemma _not_ to be blunt. “Missed you guys.”

Loudly, she mimics the sound of wrong answer buzzer. “Try again.” 

Harry scoots over a little on the couch and lays down on his side. “Needed a break.”

“It’s spring break. It’s a literal break where you don’t work for like ten days.” She makes the buzzer sound even louder. “Try again.”

It’s easier to avoid making eye contact if he lays on his back, so he rolls over. “All the stuff we talked about at Christmas? Like, about doing stuff to improve… things? Did ’em.”

“Yeah? How’d it go?”

There’s a crack in the ceiling that runs alongside the wall behind the couch. Harry tries to estimate exactly how long it is so he doesn’t have to think. “Okay, I guess. Like, things were better.”

Gemma sighs and says, “Yesterday I peed sixty-two times.”

“What?” Harry turns his head and says, “For real?”

“Yeah.” She moves her upper body like she’s trying to get out of her recliner, but she doesn’t get far, and he thinks he’ll probably have to help her in a minute, but then she settles back into her seat. “Have I told you about the hemorrhoids and constipation?”

Harry twists his face and looks back up at the ceiling. Though it would probably be a successful distraction, he says, “Please don’t.”

“Alright, then. You talk.”

It isn’t much of a choice. Finding a place to start is hard even though he actually thought about it over most of his drive home. “He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be ready for a baby.”

A short, sharp cackle leaves Gemma’s mouth. “No one’s _ever_ ready for a baby.”

“No, I mean… Like…” Tears start to collect in his eyes and there’s nowhere for them to go for the time being, so he blinks them away and tries to will himself to stop. “Like he doesn’t want kids.”

The tears pool for a few seconds before they start falling over the side, dropping from the corners of his eyes into the hair at his temples. He takes a breath to steady himself, hoping he can tell her without sobbing midway. “He said he thought he’d want them. That it’s always been so far into the future and he thought—”

Gemma sniffles loudly and when Harry turns to look at her, and sees she’s crying harder than he is, she says, “I’m eight months pregnant. I don’t know what you expected.” 

She waves her hand for him to carry on, so he does, talking as the tears soak into his hair. “He thought something would change. Like, in him. Like, he thought one day he’d wake up and want kids.”

Silence settles over the room, except for the occasional sniffle, and they stay there for a while, Gemma in her recliner and Harry on the couch. After a while, Harry doesn’t have a clue how long, Gemma sniffles again, and asks, “What now?”

Harry shrugs, and whispers, “I don’t know.” 

÷

After dinner and dessert and probably too much wine, his mom simplifies it.

“He doesn’t want to have kids,” she says. A firm statement, not a question.

Harry nods.

“And you do.” 

Harry nods.

“Do you think he’ll change his mind? In a year or two or three?”

For a second, he almost answers that he doesn’t know. That he can’t know. Not if Gabe doesn’t know. Instead, he shakes his head. 

“Will you change your mind? Decide you don’t want to have kids?”

He shakes his head again and sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down, and closing his eyes, but nothing stops his tears from falling and nothing stops the empty feeling in his middle from growing.

“Sweetie, I won’t tell you what to do. But you have to decide which you’d rather have. A future with Gabe, and the possibility that _maybe,_ sometime in the future, he _might_ change his mind,” she says softly, standing from her chair at the kitchen table and walking around to stand next to him. “Or a future with a family, but without Gabe.”

Harry nods and when he does, some of his tears drip off of the end of his nose and land on the kitchen table. He touches the tip of his right index finger to the drop of salty water and draws a circle on the tabletop, then with that finger and thumb, he pulls the simple silver band from his left hand, and sets it gently inside the circle. 

“Oh, bub,” Gemma and his mom say almost at the same time, and even as overwhelmed and sad and tired as he is, a laugh bubbles out of him at hearing the term of endearment in stereo. 

The laugh sets something loose inside though, and the steady, slow, quiet flow of tears turns to rough, uncontrollable sobbing. Too embarrassed and ashamed to sit there any longer, he starts to get up from his chair and leave the room, but as soon as he turns in his seat he realizes his mom is standing right there beside him, and she pulls him close. 

He presses his face into the fabric of her blouse where it falls over her stomach and she combs her fingers through his hair, whispering that it’ll be alright, while Gemma rubs his back. They stay like that until the tears stop. 

It’s an unspoken decision not to talk about it anymore that evening. 

In the morning, when Harry can't lay in the tiny bed in the basement bedroom anymore, he crawls out and slowly climbs the stairs, while his stomach swirls. His mom meets him in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a list of her own. And when he leaves Friday morning to drive back home, he takes it with him. 

÷

It’s funny, really, the way that nothing stops. 

Whether or not he divorces Gabe, whether or not he’ll become a dad one day, whether or not he spent the entirety of his spring break so far crying at his mom’s house, whether or not it’s trite and clichéd, and whether or not he wants it to, life goes on. 

And he’s still signed up to help Louis with the neighborhood’s Easter egg hunt on Sunday. 

He times his drive home so that he gets there late enough on Friday that it’s unlikely anyone would stop by, but early enough that Gabe probably won’t be home from work yet. After unpacking and starting a load of laundry, he eats a granola bar, just because he knows he should eat something, and goes to bed. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, not that he expected it to. He lays on his side in the dark, facing away from the door, reading over the list his mom gave him, and typing it all into a note in his phone. When he finishes, he takes the slip of paper she gave him to the bathroom, tears it into the smallest pieces he can, and drops it into the toilet, flushing twice to be sure it’s gone. 

Back in bed, he starts with the second bullet point on the list, and changes the password and security questions for his email account. If he has time, he’ll do more on Saturday, but hopefully he’ll be able to work his way through some of the items over the next week during his breaks at school. And hopefully, by the time Monday rolls around, he’ll be a little more used to the idea of calling a lawyer. 

÷

The house is empty when he wakes up, but there’s a note from Gabe on a torn piece of notebook paper laying on the counter by the coffee maker. All it says is that he’s planning to work on Easter Sunday as part of his agreement with the hospital to work holidays, and that he didn’t text because he wanted to respect Harry’s wishes. It sounds formal and strange and for the first time in twelve years, instead of a scribbled, lopsided heart with a G inside, he signs his name. 

Harry balls it up and throws it against the wall, letting it roll across the floor until it stops under the edge of the fridge. He picks it up and tosses it in the trash can, drinks his coffee, and gets dressed. 

Months ago, he and Louis signed up for the egg hunt, and he hasn’t spoken more than a few words to Louis in weeks. He spends all morning psyching himself up, trying to work out something to say that will just make things easy enough to get through the next few days. But he comes up with nothing. Deciding that he might as well let Louis take the lead, at two minutes to eleven o’clock, he walks across the street. 

Louis’ minivan is in the driveway, but it’s not running, and when Harry leans close to the tinted window to peer inside, it’s empty except for the usual random bits of string and straw wrappers on the floor.

“Harry!” Niall shouts and Harry spins around to see him walking down Louis’ front steps with Louis right behind him. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, um…” Harry coughs into his fist and catches Louis’ eye when he looks up. He holds eye contact for a few seconds, then turns back to Niall. “I went to visit my family. Missed them.”

“Yeah? Good then. Hope you had fun.” Niall reaches for the passenger door handle and pulls it open and for a split second Harry thinks he’s opening it for him because he’s so accustomed to riding up front, but then Niall slides into the seat and Harry climbs into the back. 

“I didn’t know you were doing the egg hunt, Ni,” Harry says carefully, wondering if he’s welcome on this shopping trip.

“Wasn’t. Louis said you guys needed my help, so…” Niall lifts both hands and shrugs.

Louis claps his hand on Niall’s shoulder and says, “Indispensable, you are.”

“Thanks, man.” Niall turns to look back over his seat at Harry. “How’s your family? Good?”

“Yeah, they’re good. Gemma’s massive though. Don’t tell her I said that.” Harry glances over at Louis before he can stop himself, reminded of all of the conversations they’ve had about their pregnant sisters. “How’s, um… How’s Fizzy?”

“Oh, well, better, I think. Now that she’s had the baby.” 

Harry gasps and asks excitedly, “Boy or girl?” 

“A boy. Named him Theodore.” Louis shakes his head. “No one can decide what to call him. Ted, Teddy, Theo, Ed. And Fizzy’s been calling him by his full name—first, middle, and last.” 

“When?” Harry asks, more subdued. 

“Last Friday.”

“Oh,” Harry says quietly, and pushes himself back in his seat. 

They’d agreed to text each other, no matter what time of day, whenever their sisters had their babies. And Louis didn’t. Not that Harry can be angry with him, but it hurts being left out, even if it’s his own fault. 

Harry sighs quietly, and then abruptly, the massive _weight_ of everything drops on him. He can’t breathe, and he’s positive that he’s going to be sick right there in the back seat of Louis’ minivan. And then it passes. 

His hands shake and his heart is still trying to escape his chest, but he can breathe, even if he can’t do much else. So he breathes. In and out. Slow and easy. One hand on his belly under his t-shirt, the warmth of his fingers against his own skin steadying him, and by the time they get to the store, he thinks he’ll be okay.

÷

The alarm on Harry’s phone goes off a few minutes after Gabe leaves for the hospital the morning of the egg hunt. Waiting until six to wake up means that he doesn’t have time to do much of anything other than pull on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and brush his teeth, but it also means that he can avoid seeing or speaking to Gabe. 

It’s not just that he doesn’t know what to say or how to act now that things are so... screwed up, it’s mostly self preservation. It’s going to be a busy day and he can’t afford to spend part of his morning in tears. 

As soon as he has his coffee in hand, Harry walks up the road to Niall and Zayn’s. When they finished filling the eggs the day before, Harry wondered exactly who would be hiding them, but by that time it was just him and Louis and he hadn’t wanted to ask. If he had, he wouldn’t be as surprised when he walks up the road and finds more people than he thinks he’s ever seen at six in the morning.

Once they hide all of the eggs and get everything set up, Harry leaves before he can be asked to do anything else. 

÷

After a shower and a second cup of coffee, Harry feels better prepared to take on the rest of the day. It’s been a long time since he’s been anywhere near an egg hunt, and he even did a little practice run with his nephews and some real hard boiled eggs earlier in the week. 

While he was in the shower, friends and families started arriving and most of the residents in the neighborhood with children joined them, and by the time Harry walks out his front door, the street in front of his house is crowded with cars parked on the sides and people walking down the middle. The flow of foot-traffic goes past the end of his driveway and up the road to Niall and Zayn’s house, so Harry steps into a gap between groups of people and walks with them. 

He’s never been particularly religious, so the Easter holiday has always been more about spring and the change of seasons for him, and he takes a moment to enjoy the sun on his face and the warm breeze, closing his eyes and trusting his feet to keep him moving mostly in the right direction. 

“Henry? Henry, right?” 

Harry’s eyes snap open at the touch on his arm and he looks in the direction of the voice. “Harry, actually,” he says. “Happy Easter, Lottie.”

“Shit, sorry. Knew it was an H name. Got three letters right, didn’t I, William?” She bounces the toddler on her hip and Harry is amazed at her coordination, holding William, steering a double stroller with her left hand, and not running into any of the other children in the road who dodge in and out between people. 

“Three out of five isn’t bad,” Harry says with a smile, watching her somehow wipe drool from William’s chin using the hand of the same arm she’s carrying him with. “Can I… Is there anything I can do?” 

“I won’t saddle you with William. He’s been clingy ’cause he’s teething. But…” Lottie pushes the stroller in front of Harry and says, “They’re sleeping, and as long as you don’t stop moving, they’ll stay that way.”

Harry rests both of his hands on the handlebar and the stroller keeps rolling smoothly as he walks. “This is a nice stroller. My sister has a double one for her boys, but it’s kind of heavy and like, huge.”

“I love it. Louis bought it for me.” Lottie switches William over to her other hip, then she lifts her hand in the air and waves. 

When Harry looks up, Louis is walking towards them, against the flow of people. As soon as he’s within reach, he takes William out of her hands, and says, “Hello, my favorite boy.” He drops a kiss on the top of William’s head. 

“Don’t let Fiz hear you say that,” Lottie says, her voice serious. “She should be here with Teddy soon. Takes her longer to get out of the house than it used to.” 

Louis just rolls his eyes and says, “Fine. William, you’re my favorite toddler. Teddy can be my favorite newborn.”

Niall is holding court in his driveway, going over the rules with everyone, and Harry turns and checks behind them. They’ve somehow ended up at the back of the crowd, but they aren’t missing anything. He kept going over the rules while they were filling the plastic eggs, so Harry has it memorized. Not that he’d ever cheat or push a small child out of his way to get to an egg.

“Is your sister bringing her boys?” Lottie asks, eyebrows raised.

Harry shakes his head. “She doesn’t live around here.”

“Want to do me another favor?”

He shrugs and says, “Sure. What is it?”

“Watch the twins while I help William?” 

“Of course. Don’t know what I’d be doing otherwise. Not like I’m, um…” Not like he’s taking his own kid to look for hidden plastic eggs. Not like he’s going to be doing that anytime soon. Or ever. “I’ll just walk them around a bit.” 

Lottie thanks him and disappears into the mass of people with Louis and William, and Harry pushes the stroller in the opposite direction, figuring that the noise of the crowd isn’t the best thing for the twins while they’re sleeping. Knowing where most of the eggs are hidden, he keeps walking, rounding the corner onto a blessedly empty street where he can finally breathe.

He walks down the middle of the road so that he’s less likely to steer the stroller off into someone’s yard when he closes his eyes. After a moment, he feels better. The tears that were threatening to appear back off and, if he just keeps moving, he’ll be fine. 

One of the twins, he’s not sure which because they’re not labeled and they look… like twins, starts to fuss, so he walks faster. There’s a diaper bag in the basket underneath if he needs it, though he hopes he won’t. But as he crosses through an intersection, the fussing turns to crying, so he pushes the stroller to the side of the road, parks it in the grass, and unbuckles the baby. 

“Hey, baby, don’t cry,” Harry coos over and over as he lifts her out of her seat. She quiets when he first picks her up, but as soon as he relaxes a bit and stops talking to her, she starts crying again. So he keeps talking. 

Carefully, he shifts her over to his left, holding her up at his shoulder, and rubbing her back, trying to coax a burp out of her, but nothing happens. He checks her diaper and it’s clean, and Lottie said they wouldn’t be hungry, so he isn’t sure what else to try to do to keep her happy. 

It’s only been about fifteen minutes since the egg hunt started, but Harry decides to head back anyway, and if he’s lucky, Lottie and William will be close by. With the fussy baby—who he’s decided must be Emmaline, since Louis said she was colicky—resting against his chest and held tightly with his left arm, he attempts to maneuver the double stroller out of the grass and back to civilization. 

With only one baby in the double stroller, the weight is unevenly distributed and the whole thing keeps pulling to the right. Every time it rolls near the grass on the side of the road, he adjusts his grip on Emmaline and overcorrects by pushing the stroller towards the middle of the road. It’s going alright, she’s only fussing a bit, and he thinks if he could just walk a little faster and maybe bounce her a bit, she’d fall back asleep. But he can’t because he’s trying to control the stroller one-handed and he’s not the expert that Lottie is. 

After he crosses back through the intersection, he stops again and switches Emmaline to his right arm, but before he can push off again, Beatrice lets out a single, loud wail from under the stroller’s canopy, and he freezes midstep. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Harry blows a big breath out, pushes the stroller out of the road, and lays Emmaline on her back in her seat, keeping one hand on her tummy, so that he can check that Beatrice doesn’t have a dirty diaper or anything obvious bothering her, but as soon as he puts Emmaline down, she goes from fairly content to screaming at the top of her lungs. 

Kneeling down on the street, uneven pavement digging into his bare knees, he picks her back up, but she doesn’t stop crying. He stands up with her again, bouncing his knees and leaning sideways to peek at Beatrice, who looks like she’s gearing up for a really good cry, eyes wet and lower lip trembling. 

It’s been a slow trudge back towards Niall and Zayn’s and he isn’t even halfway there. The best solution is probably to strap Emmaline back into her seat and run as fast as he can. 

“Harold!” Harry’s head whips around at Louis’ voice and he can’t help but be relieved at the sight of him jogging towards him. “You alright?” 

Why his first instinct is to say yes, even though it is incredibly obvious that he is not, he doesn’t know, but he nods at Louis’ question, then almost immediately shakes his head. 

“You seem okay with Beatrice, so I’ll just get little Emmaline here…” Louis bends over and unbuckles the baby, lifting her up and kissing her pink face. “There we go.”

“I thought… I had them confused.” Harry rubs her back, now that he can again. “Thought this was Emmaline because of the colic.”

“Nah, that’s my little buzzy Bea. Colic’s been gone. They’re… Hold on…” Louis reaches into the stroller and rummages around in the seats behind the blankets and when he stands up smiling, he winks, and holds up his hand. “Pacifiers.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…”

“No big deal, Harold. Just…” Louis pops one pacifier into Emmaline’s open mouth and it only takes a few seconds before she stops fussing. He moves around behind Harry, eye level with Beatrice where Harry has her up on his shoulder, and she quiets down too. 

As soon as both babies are happily soothing themselves, Harry sighs. “I didn’t know what to do. They were both crying and I couldn’t pick them both up and I couldn’t push the stroller right, it kept going to the side, and every time I—”

“Hey, it’s okay. Twins are _not_ easy.” Louis grabs the handlebar of the stroller and tries pushing it, but it does the same thing. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the wheel…”

“Maybe you’re meant to use two hands.”

“Good plan.” Louis steps to the side and pushes the stroller in front of Harry. He pats the handlebar and when Harry doesn’t get the hint, he reaches up and takes Harry’s hand off of Beatrice’s back and sets it on the handlebar. “Let’s go.”

They walk like that, on either side of the stroller, both of them with a baby in one arm, other hand on the handlebar, the whole way back. Harry wants to apologize for distancing himself from Louis, but saying he’s sorry more than likely means explaining why he did it in the first place, and he can’t. No one knows about his marital problems other than his mom and sister, and he can’t imagine telling anyone else. 

“Lottie and William finished with the eggs. That’s why I came looking for you.” Louis points ahead and she’s holding William, standing next to a taller woman with long brown hair. “Fiz’s here. You haven’t met her, though I’m sure it probably feels like you have.”

“Yeah…”

“Haven’t met little Theodore either. He’s such a fat baby. Super cute. You’ll love him.” Louis turns to look at Harry, smiles, and says, “Lots of babies of all ages for you to practice with.” 

Harry nods even as his stomach drops. 

“Gabe’s at work, right? He’s missing out on all these babies.” Louis somehow bounces Emmaline on his hip while walking and pushing the stroller. “Isn’t that right, Emmaline? We’ll even let old Harold here change your diapers, won’t we?” 

The same heavy feeling that hit him so hard the day before in Louis’ minivan crashes over him and he fights it with everything that he has. When he glances down he sees how tightly he’s gripping the stroller’s handlebar, but he can’t relax his hand for fear that it’ll start shaking. Where Beatrice is pressed against his chest, his heart beats wildly, and he holds her closer, hoping that will help calm him down. 

He doesn’t even notice that they’re back at Niall and Zayn’s until Louis says, “Felicite, this is Harry. Harry this is Felicite, or Fizzy if she likes you, which I’m sure she will.” 

As soon as Lottie takes Beatrice from Harry, Fizzy hands Theodore to Louis, and Louis steps up close to Harry, cradling the newborn in his arms. He lifts the tiny, chubby baby up a little, offering him to Harry to hold, and it’s too much. 

Instead of thumping erratically in his chest, his heart shatters, right there in front of everyone. His eyes burn and he knows that he’s about to lose it and break down sobbing in the middle of the street, and as soon as it starts, there will be no stopping it. 

Harry shakes his head quickly and manages to get a few words out, “I’m not feeling well. I have—” He shakes his head again, clamping his mouth shut, and takes off running. Behind him Louis calls his name and the fear that he might follow makes Harry run faster. Down the road, across the street, past the white picket fence, through his yard, up the steps, and into his house, slamming the door shut behind him.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he tosses it on the daybed without looking at it before hurrying back to their bedroom where he climbs under the covers. With the comforter pulled tight around him, he curls up in a ball on his side until he feels like he can breathe again. 

Until that morning, it didn’t occur to Harry that, from the outside, everything about his marriage would seem normal. The desire for privacy and for their problems to remain between the two of them was there, but the realization that he would have to pretend otherwise wasn’t. And with the way he’s pulled back from his friends… Of course they haven’t noticed anything. It’d been a mistake to do that, but he doesn’t have the energy to put into repairing those friendships right now, and for the purpose of having someone to talk about his… husband would feel wrong. 

The comforter he’s been wrapped in suddenly feels like it’s smothering him and Harry throws it off, kicking wildly until it slips off the end of the bed and onto the floor. Instead of making him feel better, it makes him angrier, so he throws Gabe’s pillow across the room. Somehow that makes him feel a little better while also feeding his anger, so he throws another one. And another. Until all that’s left on the bed is the fitted sheet. He forces himself up off the bed, and kicks everything as hard as he can until it’s all piled up in the corner of the room, where he leaves it. 

From the front window of his house, Harry checks to see if the road’s cleared any, and it has, but there are still people walking around. Worse, Louis and his family are all right there in Louis’ driveway. There’s little chance that he can avoid them if he goes outside and there’s no way he can face them, but he doesn’t want to be _here_ anymore. Sitting around in the house that he thought would be a new beginning for them, being reminded constantly that he was wrong...

He drops down onto the couch and reaches for his phone. As soon as he picks it up, the screen lights up with all of the missed texts from Louis, and his stomach rolls again. They’re all a variation of the same message, checking to see if he needs anything, making sure he’s alright, asking if whatever illness he has in contagious. 

The last message is what makes him respond with the lie that he’d been fighting a bad headache all morning and that it had suddenly gotten worse. He assures Louis that he’s not contagious, and apologizes for worrying or scaring anyone, then peeks out of the window again.

Louis’ driveway is empty now, so he shoves his feet into his shoes, grabs his keys and hurries to his car. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, and thinks about driving to his mom’s again or to Gemma’s or just driving around aimlessly, but the last thing he wants is to be left alone with his thoughts for hours on end. So he drives to Liam’s. His phone is still on the couch where he left it, so he hopes that Liam is home and that he won’t mind Harry showing up on his doorstep. 

About two seconds after Harry knocks, he realizes how stupid he’s being, but before he can turn and leave, Liam opens the door. “Harry? What’s going on?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure, man.” Liam steps aside and shuts the door after Harry. “What’s up?”

“I… Fuck. Okay. I need to talk to you about like… Can you keep a secret?” Harry cringes at his own choice of words.

Slowly, Liam nods once. “I can. But—” He holds one finger up when Harry starts to speak and says, “But not… Nothing illegal or like, immoral. Don’t—”

“Jesus, Liam. I’m not… It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh. Okay, good. Go ahead then.” 

“I think I’m going to, um...” Harry takes a very slow, deep breath in and out. “I’m… Gabe and I… I think we’re going to get divorced.” As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he realizes that it’s the first time he’s said it outloud. 

Liam stands there, eyes wide and blinking, for a moment, but then he seems to come back to himself. “Water?”

“Water?”

“Water? Tea? Coffee?” Liam asks and walks towards the open kitchen. “I have bourbon? Beer?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m good. Thanks, Li.”

“Do you…” Liam coughs into his fist, then clears his throat. “Sorry, I just… Why? I mean, if you want to say.” 

“Oh… Shit.” Without waiting for an invitation, Harry walks into Liam’s living room and sits down on the couch with his head in his hands. “I’m going to have to talk about it.”

“Hey, hey, no, man,” Liam says, sitting next to him and laying a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it just hit me that, like, I’m going to have to tell people we’re, um…”

“Well, yeah, I suppose.”

Harry leans back and lets his hands fall into his lap, turns to Liam and says quietly, “He doesn’t want kids.”

“Oh,” Liam says, almost silently, and it takes him a moment before he speaks again. “I’m… I… I thought you both…”

“I thought so too.” 

Liam sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” 

“Wow, man. I don’t know what to say. Do you need a place to stay? I’ve got a spare—”

“No, no, I’m, um… We’re like… Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe?”

Liam nods. “Whatever you need, Harry. Shit, man, have you told the boys?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. I’m not… I don’t want anyone else to know. Not right now.”

“Oh, right, secret.”

“Yeah.”

“So, no one else knows?”

“Just my mom and Gemma.”

“And Gabe,” Liam adds, nodding.

“No, not… I haven’t, um…”

“You haven’t told him? Are you… How are you doing this? Do you have a plan?”

“No. I don’t know. I… I think… He has to know. Like, he has to at least think it’s likely. Things have been… Fuck. I wish I could just go to sleep for like a month. I don’t want to have to deal with this.”

“Sorry, man. I wish I had some advice or something. Like… You should talk to Tommo. Him and Ethan—”

“No,” Harry interrupts and shakes his head. “No, I don’t want Louis to know. Or anyone, really. Like, our neighborhood’s weird and people talk and—”

“Hey, man, you don’t have to explain. I was thinking he’s just been through a breakup, that’s all,” Liam says reassuringly. 

Harry sighs and combs his fingers through his hair. “I have to talk to Gabe.”

“Yeah…” Liam taps his fingers on his knees and then pats his stomach. “You want lunch?”

They eat omelettes while standing in the kitchen and afterwards Liam puts on a movie. When Harry tries to leave, feeling like he’s overstayed his welcome, Liam insists that he stays until he’s absolutely ready to go home. So he hangs out on Liam’s couch for the rest of his Easter Sunday. 

When the sun starts to set, Harry decides it’s time to go, figuring that Gabe’ll be home when he gets there. He can’t keep avoiding him forever, as much as he might want to. And though his emotions keep swinging between the extremes of anger and sadness, he feels resigned as well. Ignoring things won’t make them go away. 

Looking back over their marriage, Harry realizes now that that’s what they’ve been doing. Every disagreement that they pushed aside for days, claiming that they didn’t want to ruin the little bit of time they had together by fighting, every conversation about their future that they didn’t have because Harry assumed that everything was on track, was just another way of not dealing with their problems.

Unless he wants to stay in a marriage that’s nothing like what he thought it was, he has to confront it. It’s a difficult thing to imagine, when he’s evidently spent the last decade avoiding confrontation. Not to mention simple communication. 

Those are habits he has to break. Starting now. 

Gabe’s truck is in the driveway when Harry pulls up, the shades are raised, and the lights are on. It’s relatively early, so he’s probably not asleep on the couch, and the thought that Gabe’s in the house, watching him while he sits in his car, afraid to come inside, is what makes him turn off the ignition. 

The door is unlocked, so Harry takes a deep breath before he pushes it open.

“Hi,” Harry says. 

“Hey.” Gabe stands up from the couch and says, “Do you want me to… I can go somewhere. Like a hotel or—”

“No, um…” As Harry hangs his keys by the door, it hits him that they haven’t seen each other in more than a week. Ten days and he’s barely noticed. He shakes his head and says, “No. We can’t keep doing this, Gabe.”

“Okay,” Gabe takes a step towards Harry and then points towards the kitchen. “Do you want dinner? There’s pizza.”

“No, I’m not… I’m not hungry. We need to talk.” Once the words are said, Harry cringes at the foreboding nature of the phrase. 

Gabe nods, but he doesn’t move to sit back down on the couch, so Harry does, nodding his head towards the empty space beside him. When Gabe sits down, Harry struggles to meet his eyes, but he forces himself to do it, otherwise they’ll be there all night. He knows Gabe won’t start the conversation. And even though Harry’s been thinking about it for days, even though he’s done _nothing but_ think about it, opening his mouth and forming the words is nearly impossible. 

“I want a divorce,” Harry says, voice much steadier than he feels, as his stomach threatens to empty itself.

A slow, audible breath leaves Gabe, and he drops his chin to his chest. Wanting to give him the chance to absorb the news and respond, Harry quietly waits for him to say something. After a moment, Gabe clears his throat and sits up straighter, but he doesn’t raise his eyes. “Two kids, right? That’s your… That’s what you want.”

Harry frowns and says, “I’m not sure. Two, three… What does that matter?”

“I was thinking. Just… I’ve had some time to think things over and I knew… I mean, I figured… Divorce… But we, um… we could compromise.”

“Compromise?” 

“Yeah… I don’t want a divorce, babe. I love you and like… I… I’d be willing to compromise. Like, just have one kid.”

Harry’s upper body jerks back and he blinks rapidly, confusion and a sudden sense of relief mix with apprehension. “You want to have a baby?”

“I mean, it’s a compromise, right? Like, that’s how it works. I give a little, you give a little…”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m willing to compromise. I’d… compromise… Meet you halfway? I could deal with one kid.”

Slowly, Harry tips his head to the side. “But you still don’t _want_ to have a baby… You _could deal with one kid.”_

He nods as if they’re discussing what sort of topping to order on a pizza.

“No!” Harry says and raises his hand before Gabe can even open his mouth to interrupt, standing up from the couch. “This isn’t… You can’t have a baby as a compromise!”

Gabe looks up at him from the couch, eyebrows drawn together. “I thought you wanted—”

“A baby, Gabe! I want to have babies! And a baby isn't something you agree to even though you don’t want to be a parent! I don’t… I don’t _want_ to have a baby with you if you’re not in it one hundred percent. Why would you—”

“I don’t want to lose you, Harry!” Gabe shouts, finally getting to his feet. “I don’t… I want to… I love you. I love you and I don’t want… I don’t want…” 

When he doesn’t finish his thought, Harry whispers, shaking his head, “You don’t want what I want.” 

“No, but I want you.”

“That’s not…” Harry sighs heavily. “It’s not enough.”

“But I—”

“No, Gabe. It’s not enough. I…” Some of the tears that have been threatening to break loose spill over, but Harry manages to keep himself together. “I love you, but it’s not enough.”

Gabe drops back down onto the couch as if the only thing holding him up had been the hope that they could work things out, and he rests his head in his hands. From where he stands, just a few feet away, Harry can tell that he’s crying too, can see his shoulders shake, but the last thing he wants to do is comfort him right now. 

“We can talk tomorrow.” Harry turns away when Gabe lifts his head. “I don’t, um… I don’t want this to be… I think we can do this… amicably.” 

Harry waits for Gabe to acknowledge him and hopes that he doesn’t sound too formal with his choice of words, but he’s too tired to think on his feet and all he can remember are the terms still bouncing around in his head from his research: amicable, mediator, dissolution of marriage, lawyer, divorce…

When Gabe finally grunts in agreement, Harry says, “I’m going to bed. We can discuss this in the morning.” 

Physically, Harry isn’t at all tired, but he can’t stay out in the front of the house with Gabe there. Once he’s behind the closed bedroom door, his shoulders slump and he realizes how much tension he’s been holding all day. Trying to keep his thoughts rational, trying to keep himself from agreeing to compromise just to make Gabe happy, trying to maintain a somewhat calm exterior while every part of him just wants to lay down on the floor and never get up, is mentally exhausting. 

The shower is the only place he can go, and once he’s under the water, he lets his tears fall freely, hoping that in the morning he can keep them at bay.

It seems impossible that things between them could fall apart so quickly when it was so different the previous summer. If he’s brutally honest with himself—which is hard even in his head—they haven’t really been happy in a long time. So much of their relationship has been spent waiting for the next thing, the next move, the next step, as if a new school or hospital or job or home or city was the thing that would make things right or good. 

The water runs over his back, then Harry turns and rinses the tears from his face, wondering how long their marriage was moving forward purely due to inertia. When he looks back over the last decade, it’s as if they’ve been living in a decade long period of stasis, waiting for their real life to begin. 

In bed, Harry wraps himself in the comforter and scrolls through the list on his phone. Originally, he’d planned to call a lawyer on Monday morning, thinking that that was the only way to get things started. But he’s hopeful that they can work things out without having to hire one. They’re expensive, for one, and he needs to adjust to living on a teacher’s salary. Aside from that, he thinks that once the initial shock wears off, he and Gabe will want to do this as painlessly as possible. 

÷


	10. Chapter 10

÷ 

Unfortunately, when Monday morning dawns and Harry emerges from the blankets, he still has to sit down and talk to Gabe. Gabe’s awake on the couch and he looks awful, and even though Harry tries to dredge up some sympathy, he can’t. After he makes a cup of coffee, he joins Gabe, but he has to set his cup on the table because his hands won’t stop shaking.

“I have a list, um…” Harry reaches for his phone and says, “I was planning to call a lawyer today, since I don’t have school, but… I don’t know. If that’s what we need to do, I guess that’s fine, but I…” He laces his fingers together and holds his hands up to his lips. “I don’t want like, alimony or anything. Splitting up our belongings shouldn’t be hard.”

“You’ve really thought this out,” Gabe says with closed eyes.

“Yeah… Yes. I have. I’m not… This isn’t like a bargaining tactic or something.” Harry pulls at his lower lip, looking down at his lap. “I figured I’ll keep the car, since you have your truck. And I mean, we have one credit card in both of our names, but I think we can pay it off with some of our savings, and then just cancel it.”

Gabe sits there staring straight ahead, not turning to look at Harry when he says, “Okay. What about our savings then?”

“Split it. Fifty-fifty. Is that okay?” Harry asks, and Gabe nods. “Right, um… I don’t want any of our furniture. Like, the table or the daybed or the bed. I… I’d like the things my mom gave us, you know, as wedding gifts, and—”

“Stop.” Gabe holds up a hand, finally turning to look at Harry. “I don’t… I don’t… ”

“I…” Harry says, “I don’t want… I don’t want people to know. Like, my co-workers and the neighbors. I just… I don’t want to move yet. There are less than two months left in the school year and I have testing and I… It’s stressful. Like, it’s already stressful and I don’t want to have to move, and people will talk and I just thought we could sort of keep doing what we’re doing. I can sleep on the daybed.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I mean, that’s fine. But I’ll sleep out here. This is my fault, so it’s only fair.”

Rather than reassure him, Harry simply nods. 

With each item they check off of Harry’s list, he feels a little bit better. The heaviness in his chest and stomach dissipates some and by the time the last thing is marked off, he’s overcome with relief. In the twelve years that they’ve been together, they’ve never really fought, and there’s comfort in that carrying through to their divorce. At least so far. 

Afterwards, when there’s nothing left to discuss, Harry shuts himself in the smallest bedroom, sits on the small window seat, and calls his mom. They make plans for Harry to come stay with her as soon as the school year is over and Harry relays most of his conversation with Gabe. 

That afternoon Harry drives to the nearest branch of the bank they’ve used since they got married and sits in the parking lot for a few minutes before driving across the highway to a competing bank. He opens a checking account in his name and gets the information he needs to switch over the direct deposit of his paycheck. It feels good, like he’s productively working towards a goal, even while his chest clenches at the spaces for his spouse’s information that he leaves blank. It’s one more thing off his list.

÷

Two weeks pass and nothing changes as far as their day to day life. There are some differences, of course, but small things. Like Harry doesn’t feel the responsibility to make sure Gabe eats dinner, and Gabe avoids the bedroom completely. While Harry’s at school, he moves all of his things into the second bedroom. 

What stands out is what remains the same. 

They see each other just as often as before. They speak to each other almost as much as before, though with less affection. They continue with their own separate routines. And Harry’s relationship with his right hand stayed the same.

÷

Testing starts in mid-May and once again, Harry finds himself on Liam’s classroom floor.

“Do you think it’s wrong of me to keep so many secrets from the guys?”

Liam sits up and pats Harry’s knee, looking down at him where he’s sprawled on the floor. “Your personal life is no one’s business, Harry. Don’t feel guilty about keeping things to yourself.”

“You know though.”

“Yeah, but I’m special.” Liam winks and asks, “How’s it going, living together?” 

“Oh, um… I don’t know. It’s okay, I guess.” Harry reaches his hand up and Liam grabs it, pulling until Harry’s sitting as well. “I was actually thinking about my job. Like, not telling anyone but you.”

Liam sighs. “It’s your prerogative. That said, the boys are all aware that Janie isn’t coming back, but as far as anyone knows, they haven’t offered you the job. The listing’s still there on the website.”

“I’m surprised no one’s mentioned it to me.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been… around much.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…”

“Listen, man. You need to do what you need to do. If that means keeping some things to yourself for a while, then so be it. I know it’s been hard for you to even talk about the divorce, so telling more people would be really tough.”

“Thanks, Li. I do miss you guys. I’m just not… I guess I’m not ready for people’s questions, you know? Like, someone’s bound to ask how Gabe’s doing or mention the job or something. And Gemma’s due any day now, so there’s a good chance Louis’d bring that up, which could lead to, um…”

“Like Easter. It’s okay. I’m telling you, Louis wouldn’t want to upset you. He’d understand. Everyone will understand. It’ll all come out in the wash, you know?”

Harry closes his eyes and nods. 

Just a few more weeks and he can disappear for a little while. 

÷

Gemma’s baby is stubborn from the get-go, and she labors for almost thirty hours before he finally decides he’s ready to be born, and he comes out kicking and screaming, with more hair than Harry’s ever seen on a newborn. His eyes are a pale bluish-green and his hair is dark and in the pictures he looks like someone took one of Harry’s old baby pictures and photoshopped a wig onto it. She names him Thomas Edward and Harry cries when she tells him. 

Once June arrives, everything hits him hard. 

The lease on their house goes through the end of July, but there’s no way that Harry can spend two months living in the same house with Gabe. His mom tells him that of course he can come and stay with her, “as long as he needs.” When he tells Liam his plan to stay with him mom for a while, Liam offers his spare room when Harry gets back. This time Harry takes him up on it. 

Maybe it’s shitty of him, but Harry makes his plans to leave without telling Gabe.

The first weekend of June, Harry starts to pack. They’ve moved so many times over the past few years that there are plenty of plastic bins and cardboard boxes, and since all of his winter clothes are already boxed up, it takes him less time than he expected. 

When Harry goes to retrieve his clothing bins from the smallest bedroom, he’s surprised to find Gabe sitting on the window seat. 

“Oh, um… Hey.” Harry stands halfway through the door into the room, unsure which way to go. 

“Hey.” Gabe raises his hand in a halfhearted wave and says, “I was just thinking that I should pack or something, but then I realized that you’ve always packed our stuff, and… I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I realized that too.” Harry steps into the room the rest of the way and crosses over to the window, but he doesn’t sit down. “There are some empty boxes in the attic. Sorry. I used a lot of the bins… I wasn’t thinking. I can unpack—”

“No, don’t. Don't do that. You… It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” Gabe stands up and goes to the closet, sliding open the door and looking inside. “Is any of this mine?”

“It’s all labeled. I’m, um… I’m going to my mom’s. I’m leaving Saturday morning.”

Gabe turns around and an almost silent “Oh” leaves his lips. 

Harry presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah, I… I meant to tell you.”

With his arms at his sides and his chin to his chest, Gabe stands in front of the closet and Harry wonders if he should leave the room. There have been so many times in the last month or so when Harry’s been suddenly overcome with the urge to lie down and just… avoid everything, that he’s almost gotten used to feeling that way. He can see some of that in the way Gabe’s holding himself. 

Just when Harry makes the decision to leave, Gabe looks up and says, “Are you coming back?”

“No. I mean, yeah. School starts back in mid-August, so I’ll be back for that, but…”

“I’ll be in Ohio by then. Where will you live?”

“I… I’m not sure. To be honest, I haven’t thought about it much. Liam offered his spare room, but I don’t know… Kind of want to have a place of my own.”

“This, um… This is it, isn’t it?” Gabe asks, and when Harry nods, he says, “I won’t know what to do without you.”

“You’ll figure it out, Gabe.”

“It feels like we’re doing this wrong. This has to be the most boring divorce. You should be angrier or something.” Gabe laughs quietly, shaking his head, and Harry snorts.

“I _am_ angry. I’m just not… It’s not _all_ your fault. I’m angry with myself too. More than I am with you, I think.”

Gabe’s eyebrows draw together and he says, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Harry. Don’t blame—” Harry laughs again and Gabe scowls. “I’m just saying it’s not—”

“Gabe! Stop. You’re like… defending me from myself. Just… I can be angry with myself. I can feel however I want, for one thing, but also… I mean, yeah, the baby thing is the biggest… issue, but it all comes down to us not… communicating. And I’m just as much to blame for that. So…”

“Fine. Okay. That’s probably true. Still… I don’t have to like it.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” Harry shrugs one shoulder and says, “I’ll let you pack.” 

÷

The students’ last day is Thursday, so Friday is considered a staff development day. They spend the morning going over final grades and the afternoon taking down posters and other decorations, emptying bookshelves, and packing up whatever personal belongings are left in their classrooms. Liam warns Harry that the guys are planning to try to coerce him into going out that night, and distracts them so that Harry can haul his last load of stuff out to his car. 

Once he gets home, Harry goes straight to the smallest bedroom and starts moving his boxes and bins outside so that he can put them all into the back of the stationwagon. When they moved into their first apartment after college, they packed everything they owned into the back of that car. It was brand new then, a graduation-slash-wedding gift from Harry’s grandparents, and it took them hours to arrange and rearrange things until they fit. 

Now Harry has it down to a science. After he stacks up the bins and boxes in the driveway beside the car, he goes back inside for the few small pieces of furniture that used to belong to his mom. The two bedside tables fit side by side in the back of the stationwagon, just behind the backseat, leaving enough room for about half of Harry’s boxes. Everything else he crams into the backseat. All that’s left is his suitcase and a small box with all of his toiletries. 

After their conversation the previous evening, Gabe said he was going to stay with a coworker Friday night so that Harry could spend his last night in the house alone, and though Harry put up a bit of a fuss, it’s for the best. 

Harry orders a pizza, and spends the night on the couch watching kids’ movies on Netflix. His usual favorite comfort movies are all romantic comedies, and even though he thinks it wouldn’t necessarily bother him to see them, it feels wrong somehow to watch other people find their happily ever afters on what he’s been thinking of as the last night of his marriage. Even though, technically, their divorce won’t be finalized until sometime in the fall. 

Harry sets his alarm for five o’clock so that he can leave before the rest of the neighborhood wakes up. 

÷

“There is no way your therapist says it’s fine for you to lay around all day watching television.” His mom stands next to the arm of the couch looking down at him and says, “I don’t believe you.”

Harry aims the remote at the TV and pauses it. “She didn’t say those exact words.”

“What did she say, then?”

“Lots of things. I don’t know.” 

“Okay, sit up.” She walks around to the front of the couch and stands there, hands on her hips, staring at him and tapping her foot until he sits up, and makes room for her. “If you were to tell her that this is what you’re doing with your days—moving from the couch to the bed and back again—what do you think she’d say?”

“I don’t know,” Harry mumbles, even though he knows exactly what she’d say, because she said it yesterday. He glances over at his mom, who’s watching him with her no-bullshit expression, and sighs. “Fine. She said I need to get up, shower, go for a run. Stuff like that.”

“Are you not being honest with her? Does she know you’ve basically been horizontal since you got here?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, maybe she does. I don’t know.”

“Okay. Here’s the deal.” She reaches over and smooths the sleeve of his t-shirt over his arm and says, “If you’re staying here, you can’t do this.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

“No, I’m telling you that I won’t allow you to wallow anymore. You can stay as long as you like, but I expect you to do what your therapist tells you to do.” With one last tug on his sleeve, she stands up again and says, “Let’s go for a walk.”

It’s pretty much impossible for him to say no to his mom, so he forces himself off the couch and into his sneakers, but he refuses to change out of the t-shirt and sweatpants he slept in. He realizes his mistake almost the second they step outside and the summer heat hits. Still, he doesn’t go back inside to change, and decides to consider the lower half of his body roasting a sort of punishment. For what, he’s not sure. Maybe for upsetting his mom.

They walk for a while before his mom breaks the silence. “You seemed fine when you got here.” 

“I know. I think, um… I did talk to my therapist about that. She said since nothing really changed, even after we filed for divorce in April, until I moved out, that I’ve been sort of having a delayed reaction.”

“Are you missing him? Is that what’s wrong?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. Maybe? I just… I don’t know what to do. You know, summers were always kind of our time? I used to plan, like, little day trips to small local museums, the beach. Dates; dinner and a movie, which we never had time for usually.”

His mom hums quietly to herself and doesn’t say anything, so they walk side by side for a while. On their way around the cul de sac, she says, “I know Gabe was busy, but Harry, you realize that most couples make time for things like that, don’t you? Even with a new baby, two preschoolers, and two full time jobs, Gemma and Jamie have regular dates.”

“Yeah.” Harry wipes the sweat from his face with his t-shirt and curses his past self for wearing black sweatpants. “It’s not just that though. I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I don’t live here. In August I have to go back to work and it’s… I still feel like I’m delaying things.” And he's back to zero with his goals for his future family.

“Maybe you are,” she says with a shrug. “It’s okay to hide for a little while and ignore things, I think. But you have to start doing more. Even if it’s just walking like this, though next time we should do it in the evening. This heat is ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles and fans her with one of his hands while he opens the door to her house with the other. “I have a homework assignment.”

His mom turns to look at him as she walks inside, and says, “Homework?” 

“Yeah, for therapy. I’m supposed to write out my future. Like, what I want it to look like.”

“That’s a good idea, Harry. Give yourself some goals to work towards.” She heads for the kitchen and he follows her, filling two glasses with ice and passing them to her so she can fill them with water. “Start small though. Little goals are easier, I think. At least at first. For instance, no more wallowing. And go take a shower.”

With a loud, dramatic gasp, Harry holds his hand to his chest. “What are you saying, mom?”

“You’ve been wearing those pants for three days, Harry. That’s what I’m saying.” 

Dreaming of a future—a new future—is a lot harder than he expected it to be. Sure, it’s easy to sit down with a notepad and pen and write ‘babies’ at the bottom of the paper, but even his immediate future is difficult to imagine or plan. At first, he ends up with more of a to do list than anything and at the very top is ‘find a place to live’. Liam offered his spare room, but it’s a temporary option, and Harry’ll have to find an apartment of his own soon. In between ‘find a place to live’, ‘grad school’, and ‘babies’ is a big, blank page.

÷


	11. Chapter 11

÷ 

While Liam does have a second bedroom, he doesn’t have a second bed. And it makes no sense to haul all of his crap up the stairs to Liam’s apartment, just like it made no sense to move it into his mom’s house just to move it out again two months later. So Harry leaves most of his things in the back of his station wagon and sleeps on the couch. 

“Have you talked to any of the boys?” Liam asks the first night after Harry arrives.

“No, um… Have you?”

“Well, yeah.” Liam gently punches Harry’s shoulder and says, “We still go out most Fridays. It’s been hard to keep your secret.”

“Did you—”

“I haven’t said anything. But… Harry, they’re all pretty hurt.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for anyone—”

“Wait. Just… You know Gabe left, right? Louis called me that night absolutely losing his shit because he hadn’t seen you since the last day of school, and two months later, Gabe’s loading up a moving truck, refusing to say anything other than that you went to visit your mom.”

“Oh…”

“I told him I’d talked to you, and that you _were_ at your mom’s, because he thought Gabe had murdered you or—”

“No! Oh my—”

Liam waves his hand, cutting Harry off. “He was a little drunk. It’s fine. But, um… Louis and Niall and Zayn, they’re your friends. And they care about you.”

Harry slumps back against the arm of the couch. “I know. I… I need to tell them. Do you think it’d be okay if I joined you guys Friday?”

“Yeah, man. You’re always welcome. You know that.”

“Okay.” Harry bites his lower lip and pulls his socked feet up on the couch and hugs his knees. “I’m nervous. I don’t want them to be mad at me.”

“Harry,” Liam says with a sigh. “You’re talking about three grown men, two of whom are married to each other, and one who ended a four year relationship in January. If anything, they’ll be mad at themselves for not instinctively knowing what was going on.”

÷

Friday arrives much sooner than Harry wants. In fact, when he wakes up that morning, sunlight streaming through the window, some of the anger that he thought he’d gotten out of his system comes flooding back and there’s nothing to do with it. He balls his hands into tight fists, digging the blunt end of his nails into his palms. His head hurts from grinding teeth all night.

It’s so unfair that he has to basically start his life again at thirty-two and, for a few minutes he lets his mind drift back over their marriage, angry at the many times that he thinks he should have known. It’s useless and does nothing but feed on itself, but he isn’t able to stop. He groans and rolls onto his side, smashing his face into the couch cushion, and wishing he’d never agreed to meet up with everyone. 

He has to do it. 

There’s no way he can just live the rest of his life never mentioning Gabe or their divorce. But he doesn’t want to, even as he feels like a big baby for pouting about it.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Liam says, glancing over when he pulls onto Oak Street between the low brick walls. “I told you, no one’s mad at you.”

“No, it’s not…” Harry takes a breath and exhales through his nose. “I’m fine.”

All day long he’s been so anxious about meeting up with Louis and Niall and Zayn that he didn’t think about how strange it would be to drive though the neighborhood again.

The red door that he painted looks the same and he frowns when he sees the same shades hanging in the windows. Gabe must’ve left them behind. All he can think is at least the apartment he’s supposed to move into has blinds on the windows. 

Niall and Zayn’s smart car is parked in the street beside their house instead of the tiny spot in their garage, and Liam pulls up behind it. When Harry steps out into the grass, he brushes his hands over his t-shirt and looks down at his basketball shorts, feeling underdressed even though Liam is dressed almost identically. Something about meeting up with his friends after so long and explaining everything to them feels like a more formal situation, which is ridiculous and is probably just his brain trying to think of any reason for him to leave and avoid facing his problems head on. 

He shakes it off, following Liam through the yard, and when Liam rounds the corner of the house ahead of him, he hears Louis call out, “Liam! Finally!” and Harry freezes in place. 

Only a few seconds pass before Liam pops his head back around the side of the house. “Come on, man. Don’t be a chickenshit.” 

Harry narrows his eyes and huffs, but he can’t be annoyed when Liam’s right. One step at a time and he’s standing in the driveway with Niall, Zayn, Louis, and Liam all staring at him. Liam nods his head towards the other guys, so Harry lifts one hand and says, “Hi.”

None of them look angry, just a little confused, so maybe Liam was right about that. 

“Harry,” Niall says, striding across the driveway. He pulls Harry into a quick hug, which Harry doesn’t have time to reciprocate before Niall takes a step back. “Hey, man. You visiting?”

When Harry shakes his head, Liam drops his arm around Harry’s shoulder, and whispers in his ear, “Rip the bandaid off.”

With his hands clasped in front of him, Harry moves forward and out of Liam’s embrace. “I, um… I’m not visiting. I’m actually staying with Liam right now, but I’m moving into my own place this weekend.”

“In Ohio?” Louis asks. He and Zayn haven’t moved from where they were standing when Harry first saw them and he’s trying not to let it hurt his feelings that neither of them seem happy to see him.

Harry shakes his head again. “No, um, Lake Crest? It’s an apartment complex on—”

“Harry,” Liam says and Harry looks over his shoulder at him, but all Liam does is raise his eyebrows and point to his own ring finger. 

“Oh.” Harry sighs and turns back around. “Fuck. Okay. Gabe and I are getting divorced.” When they collectively gasp, an awkward half-laugh half-snort leaves Harry’s mouth and he slaps his hand over it. “Yeah, so… I’m really sorry about, um…”

Zayn recovers first and says, “No, man, don’t. Don’t apologize.”

“Are you alright?” Niall asks, but then his voice goes from kind to sharp. “What happened? Did he—”

“No, no, no,” Harry says, waving both of his hands in front of him. “No… Nothing _happened,_ but I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, Harold.” Louis punches Niall in the arm, ignoring his complaints, and says, “You don’t have to talk about it, but you know you _can,_ right?” Harry nods, so relieved to have it out in the open that he starts to get choked up when Louis wraps his arms around him, squeezes tight, and says, “I’ll listen anytime.”

When Harry nods again, Louis pats his back, then puts some distance between them and grabs Harry by both shoulders, shaking him gently, and pushing him away. Harry stumbles backwards for a step, but Niall and Zayn are right behind him and they spin him around and hug him from both sides. Liam fits himself against Harry’s chest between them and Louis drapes himself over Harry’s back. 

He’s never been hugged by four people at once, and while it’s sweet and wonderful and he feels so much better now that he’s gotten the initial news off of his chest, it’s also throwing him off balance. All five of them topple to the ground almost in slow motion. At first, Harry tries to stay upright, but it’s no use fighting the inevitable. 

“Can I, um…” Harry straightens his clothes and rubs the small scrape on his knee, then looks around at each of them in turn and says, “I do want to apologize for sort of disappearing on you guys. And I guess, surprise? I signed in April to take the job full time.”

“Liam!” Niall shouts.

Harry whips his head around to look at him just when Louis yells, “You knew!”

While Harry stands there watching, Zayn, Niall, and Louis chase Liam around the side of the house. He’s still standing in the same spot when Liam comes racing around the corner towards him, having circled the entire house, and attempts to hide behind Harry, peeking over his shoulder. “I didn’t think they’d be mad at _me._ I didn’t do anything, really.”

“Hey, hey!” Harry holds his hands out and says, “Don’t, please, I asked him not to tell.”

“Oh, we figured that part out, Harold.” Louis darts to one side and Liam jerks Harry around by his shoulders. 

“Then, why are you—” Harry bites his tongue when Louis fakes left and Liam twists him around by his shoulders again, so Harry shakes him off and lets Louis have him. 

He pours himself a beer and hops up on a stool beside the bar and watches, letting the cold beer soothe his sore tongue, while Louis, Niall, and Zayn wrestle Liam to the ground until they call a truce.

They lay sprawled on their backs on the cement driveway, and Harry smiles from his perch on the stool. 

÷

Harry plans on moving into his new apartment in the morning and once the other guys find out, they want to help. Harry and Liam manage to convince them that there isn’t enough stuff in the back of Harry’s station wagon for them to need help, but just after breakfast Saturday morning, Louis shows up. It takes the three of them less than an hour to move it all in, so as soon as they’re finished, Liam leaves for the gym.

“Right, Harold,” Louis says, while he stares into Harry’s empty refrigerator. “Groceries?”

“No, um, actually, I’m going to go up to Ikea. Not sure if you noticed,” Harry says and points the open bedroom door. “But I don’t have a bed.” 

Louis closes the fridge with his hip and raises his eyebrows. “You don’t have anything.” 

“Well… Yeah.” Harry frowns and reaches up to rub the line between his eyebrows, knowing that Louis doesn’t mean it _like that,_ but somehow unable to take it any other way. 

“Let’s go then.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I have the sudden desire to own another Allan wrench. We’re going to Ikea.”

There doesn’t seem to be a point to arguing with him, so Harry agrees, “On the condition you let me buy you some meatballs.”

÷

“Hey, Louis.” Harry combs his fingers through his hair and scratches the back of his neck, watching while Louis parks his minivan. The desire to apologize again is there, but he also wants to tell Louis that he doesn’t have to do this, that they can leave now, and that he can come back another day by himself, but he’s already said that twice. Since he already has Louis’ attention and he can’t think of anything else to say, he asks, “Why do you drive a minivan?”

Louis purses his lips and the short hairs of his beard glint in the sunlight. “I’m a soccer mom, Harold. Didn’t you know?”

Harry rolls his eyes and follows Louis across the street. “I mean, besides that.”

“Three years ago, I took the little Honda I’d been driving up to the dealership because of a recall on the airbags. They gave me a loaner for the day—a minivan—and I don’t know… I liked it. It’s convenient with my nieces and nephews.” Louis points at the man pushing a flatbed cart stacked with boxes past them. “And it’s good for hauling stuff.” 

“Oh, that makes sense.” Harry knocks their shoulders together and says, “My car really is a piece of shit.”

“That it is, Harold. Going to trade yours in for a new one?”

“Nah, I can’t afford it right now.”

Louis hums as they walk through the automatic doors. When Harry steps off the escalator behind him, he turns and says, “What’s on your shopping list?”

“Oh, um…” Harry checks his phone and says, “A queen size mattress, a stool or something so I have a place to sit at that little breakfast bar thing, some utensils and plates and stuff, towels, sheets, some other bedding… That’s it.”

“Hey, so, tell me if I’m overstepping, but like… Did you not get _anything_ when you and Gabe split up?”

“It’s not like that. I, um…” Harry sighs quietly. “I didn’t want any of it. So I told him to take it.”

When Harry glances over, Louis nods and slides his hands into the pockets of his jean shorts. They walk through the sofas and sectionals and Harry looks the other way when he sees the daybed he and Gabe bought last year. 

Louis makes a beeline for the small sofas and loveseats, and drops down onto a little red couch. “Have you thought about getting something like this? I know you said you can’t afford much, but I’ve seen these secondhand for like a hundred bucks, and I could loan you—”

“No, no, it’s, um… I have some money in savings. I just… I don’t know. I guess I _can_ afford it. Like, I could technically buy enough furniture for the whole apartment, but I’m, um…”

“You don’t have to explain, Harry, I just thought you—”

“No, Louis, I… You do that all the time. I _know_ I don’t have to tell you, but I sort of want to?” Harry lowers himself down to sit next to him, but faces forward, finding it easier to speak that way. “It’s hard to get used to the idea that I have to make all of these decisions by myself. I’ve never lived alone before.”

“Never? Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Harry rubs at the tip of his nose and chews on the inside of his cheek. When he and Gabe bought the daybed last year, they came up the escalator, picked the cheapest one in-stock, paid to have it delivered, and left. And he doesn’t want to talk about that. He runs his tongue over his teeth, then tilts his head to look at Louis to find him already looking back, small curious smile on his face. “I could use some tips. If you have any.”

“Tips?” When Louis snorts, it seems to take him by surprise, because his eyebrows shoot up and he covers his mouth with the back of his hand. “On living alone?”

“Yeah… Is that… Was that out of line? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”

Louis shakes his head quickly and says, “No, it’s fine. I just, um, never thought that’d be the sort of thing I’d be giving advice about. I can though. I’ve lived alone for… Wow. Ten years.” He lets his head drop against the back of the sofa and his voice gets quieter. “I mean, I knew that, but I guess I haven’t thought about it like that.”

Harry only meant to distract himself a bit, take his mind off of Gabe, not upset Louis. “Is that when you bought the house?” 

“Yeah…” Louis lifts his arms up and laces his fingers behind his head. “I was twenty-four. I’d been teaching for two years. Been with my boyfriend for three. Decided to buy the house. Was going to propose, actually, but that… Well, obviously that didn’t work out.”

“You were engaged?” 

“No, it didn’t get that far. My college boyfriend, Pete, we lived together in an apartment across town.” Louis drops his hands into his lap and says, “But, um, I don’t know. We’d been growing apart for a while, I think. I bought the house. He took a job in Seattle. I stayed here.”

“Holy shit, Lou, I’m sorry.” Harry reaches over and gently squeezes Louis’ knee, then jerks his hand back when he feels bare skin. “Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. Sucked at the time, but to be honest, shit happens. Same thing with Ethan, really, relationships fall apart and it’s not always some big awful thing that happens. People change.” Louis huffs a little self-deprecating laugh and leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m not the same person I was ten years ago, thankfully. And I wouldn’t expect anyone else to be the same either. I just hope next time I find someone I can grow _together_ with.”

Harry watches him for a moment, impressed with Louis’ entire thought process. He turns his head to look at Harry, smiling slowly, crinkles beside his eyes deepening. It’s impossible not to smile back. “You’re very wise in this Ikea today, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Ehh…” Louis looks away as he shrugs and changes the subject. “Maybe it’s my house. No one else wants to live in that house with me.”

“That’s crazy. I’d live there— I mean, not— I… I just mean your house is nice. It’s comfortable. The right person would want to live there. Nothing’s wrong with the house, it’s the people that suck. Shit.” Harry covers his face with both hands and mumbles from behind them, “I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to other people.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harold. _Other_ people.” Louis pushes himself up off the couch and holds a hand out to help Harry up, quickly pulling him to his feet. “You’d have to be human to do that, and we all know you’re an alien, so…”

Harry smacks Louis’ arm and laughs. “I like your house, is all I was saying. I didn’t mean to insult your exes.”

“I know, man, I can interpret your alien language.”

“Shut up, Louis.” Harry scowls and him and waits for him to turn his head so he can see it. “Now, tell me how to live alone.”

Louis scratches his beard and says, “First, grow a beard.”

“I’m trying.” He’s been trying for thirty-two years. “What’s next?”

“Next? Let’s see… Next, buy a mattress, and whatever else you have on your list. And then, decide what you want, Harold. Do you want a couch from Ikea? Do you even want a couch? Figure it out.”

Harry nods and says, “Alright. I’ll work on it.” 

“And buy some groceries.”

As they walk through the entire showroom, Harry takes pictures of things that he likes, but he doesn’t buy much more than the items on his list. Though Louis does talk him into buying an actual bed instead of just a mattress, and after deliberating for a few minutes, and after asking Louis—who refused to give an opinion other than to mention than some of the beds have storage underneath, which would be convenient considering that Harry refuses to buy a dresser or anything else—still, he chooses a simple wooden bed frame. 

The bed isn’t that difficult to put together with the two of them. They finish before the sun goes down, and Louis leaves after Liam shows up with what he calls a housewarming six-pack. It’s pretty obvious to Harry that they’re trying not to leave him alone, which is really just postponing the inevitable. So as soon as Louis’ minivan pulls out of the parking lot, Harry sends Liam on his way with the excuse that he’s tired and dirty and just wants a shower and his brand new bed. 

Behind his new shower curtain, Harry stands there looking down at his feet, overcome with the sadness that he’s kept at bay throughout the move and the shopping trip and assembling the bed. While he and Louis worked together to build the bed, Harry couldn’t help but remember the last time he did something like this, when he did it most of it by himself, even though Gabe was there and Harry could’ve asked him for help. 

Maybe it’s some sort of metaphor for their marriage, but all Harry can think when he goes to bed that night—alone in his own apartment for the very first time—is that it isn’t all that different from most of the last year. And that thought is the one that finally makes his tears fall.

÷

Figuring out what he wants is much more difficult than Harry would’ve ever thought it’d be. The same piece of paper that he folded up and stuck in his wallet after his last appointment with his therapist is just as blank as it was that first day. Fleetingly, he thinks he should probably find a therapist in town. 

The following Friday afternoon, he sits on his bed with his pillows stacked up behind his back, his closed laptop balanced on his knees and smooths the folded paper out, drawing a line through ‘find a place to live’ and writing underneath it ‘find a job that I love’ before marking it out too. 

At the bottom of the page the word babies is still written in big block letters, and the pen in Harry’s hand hovers over the space above it. Even inside his head, the mere idea of meeting someone else and falling in love seems so wrong. Impossible. Like he’s stepped into a parallel universe. 

He’s thirty-two years old and has never even really dated anyone before. In high school, he had a girlfriend on and off, but it was never anything serious, and the drunken fumbling on the night of their senior prom had sort of sealed the fate of that relationship. 

The first two years of college, he spent a lot of time alone trying to figure himself out, which led to his summer of self-discovery—as he likes to refer to the time between his sophomore and junior years. The following January when Harry came back to campus after Christmas, it was to find that his old roommate had dropped out, and his new roommate was Gabe. And that was that. 

On the third line from the top of the page, Harry writes ‘figure out what I want in a partner’, then underneath that he writes ‘research single parent adoption’ and draws a little star beside it. Harry sets the piece of paper to the side and opens his laptop, figuring he knows what he’s doing for the rest of the afternoon before he leaves to meet the guys at Niall and Zayn’s house. 

On the very first site that he finds, things look good, until he gets to the income section. But he’ll get incremental raises every year and he could get a summer job if need be.

The part about the lifestyle change isn’t great. He didn’t consider that he wouldn’t see much of his friends at all if he adopted a baby by himself. He’s been lonely, and that would suck. But maybe it’d be okay if he had a baby.

He scrolls down and comes to a set of questions, the first one asking who would help you with your child if you were sick, and Harry’s shoulders slump. His eyebrows draw together and he swears he can still feel that stupid wrinkle when he rubs the pad of his index finger over it. Louis would definitely help him out, but Harry doesn’t think he’d feel comfortable asking him to do it more than once. 

The rest of the questions make his decision for him. Because he can’t imagine expecting _any_ of his friends to be his emergency contact or pick up his baby from daycare, if for some reason Harry couldn’t. 

Squeezing his eyes tight for a second, Harry swallows and takes deep breaths until the lump in his throat disappears. He closes his laptop, picks up his pen and paper, and draws a careful line through ‘research single parent adoption’. Then he does it again. And a third time, pressing down hard enough to tear the paper. He tosses his laptop onto the mattress beside him, balls the paper up, and throws it through the open door of his bedroom into the living room.

There’s wine in the kitchen and Harry sets about drinking it, spending the rest of the day drunk and sad in his brand new bed. Around nine o’clock that night his phone goes off and eventually he gets tired of hearing it, so he responds to Louis’ texts that he’s not feeling well and won’t be over. 

Of course Louis asks him what his symptoms are because they saw each other Thursday morning for coffee. They spent the rest of that day driving from thrift store to antique shop looking for furniture, and then to the garden center to buy a plant that the internet told Harry is nearly impossible to kill. 

And of course Harry’s a horrible liar when he’s had an entire bottle of red wine and then some, so he texts Louis and tells him the short version of the truth. 

That’s he’s not ill, just sad and drunk, but he promises he’ll be okay tomorrow. 

When Harry wakes up feeling like absolute shit, he checks his phone to see it’s just after eight in the morning, and finds three texts from Louis. The first one says “I know you know you don’t have to tell me, so thanks for telling me.” The second one says “I hope you read that drunk and it doesn’t make sense.” And the third says, “Meet for coffee at ten if you want.” 

Harry showers and scrubs himself until he’s pretty sure he’s removed the entire top layer of his skin and he feels marginally better. Then he texts Louis that he wants to meet for coffee but there has to be bacon as well. 

After breakfast, Harry decides to drive to the next town over where he heard there are a number of secondhand shops. As soon as Louis hears his plans to look for a couch, he invites himself along. 

They go to every secondhand shop they know of and Harry doesn’t find a couch, but he does find a three-legged side table that he likes and a lamp he thinks is cool and he buys those along with a long curved lowboy dresser whose mirror is the perfect height for him. While he pays, Louis backs the minivan up closer to the door. The dresser is big and solid, but the shop has these furniture slider things, so they only have to pick it up and move it maybe ten feet. 

It’s a different story when they get back to his apartment. 

The dresser is the heaviest thing Harry’s ever lifted and carried up two flights of stairs and for some reason, when Louis asks which way he wants to go up the stairs, Harry decides to go first. Belatedly, he realizes that for sixteen steps per floor, with no landings and no other chances to stop and rest, there’s the possibility that he’s going to lose his grip and crush Louis with this massive piece of furniture. 

The entire time, Louis _will not_ stop teasing him. First, about the grunt that escapes him when he hefts it up the first step, then about the grimace on his face, the sweat on his forehead, and the sigh of relief when he sets it down between floors. 

For the second flight, Louis loudly and exaggeratedly mimics his slightly labored breathing. When they get to the third floor, and Harry lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, Louis gasps dramatically and tells Harry that he hadn’t really believed the rumors about the extra nipples, and starts listing random other body parts and asking if he has extras. 

By the time they have the dresser against the wall in his bedroom, Harry is flushed red more from embarrassment than from moving furniture. But he also forgot to be anxious about carrying it as soon as he picked it up and Louis told him he sounded like a camel.

“Thanks again, Lou. I know I already thanked you, and you said for me to stop, but—” Harry takes a deep breath, resting his hands on his hips and staring out onto his little balcony so he doesn’t have to look at Louis. “I’ve never— No one’s ever done stuff like this before, you know?”

“I know, Harold,” Louis says patiently, and Harry frowns when Louis continues. “I’m sure it’s an adjustment, not being able to call Gabe to help you.” 

Harry nods and then shakes his head. “No, um, he wasn’t— He wouldn’t have come. He never had time, really, for stuff like this.”

Silence sits between them for long enough that Harry starts to feel like he said something wrong, but then Louis quietly sighs and says, “When I tell you not to like, repeatedly thank me for things like this, it’s because it’s no big deal. Whatever I’ve done is just what I do for people I care about. Okay?”

“Okay, sorry, I—”

“No, don’t. _Don’t_ say you’re sorry. ’Cause I just…” Louis sighs, props a hand his hip and looks away, lifting the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “You deserve to have that. To have people who care about you and help you out and support you because they want to and you… You deserve that from a partner too. And more. More than you’ve been given.”

“Oh, I, um…” Harry bites the side of his index finger, unsure of what to say other than to thank Louis again, which he does. Even though Louis brushes it off.

Louis stays long enough to drink some water and cool off, then he goes home to clean up before he’ll spend the rest of the day with his family. Later, in the shower when Harry pours the body wash into his hand, the smell reminds him of Gabe and the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense as he lets himself think about Louis’ earlier words. It’s been easier to make the baby thing the crux of their divorce, but the further he gets from his marriage the more he notices the other inadequacies. 

That evening he goes out and spends an embarrassing amount of time sniffing shampoos and soaps before finally deciding on mint scented everything, hoping that it’ll help wake him up come Monday morning when his alarm goes off for the first time in months. While he’s thinking about it, Harry changes his alarm to “Walking On Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves, hoping it’ll put him in a good mood when it wakes him up.

÷


	12. Chapter 12

÷ 

Once the students start back to school, Harry feels even more settled. With a daily routine, getting to know his students, and adjusting to his new apartment, he’s busy enough that he hasn’t been bored, even if he hasn’t been going out with his friends on Friday nights. It feels wrong to go out every weekend when he’s going through a divorce.

Somehow Labor Day sneaks up on him. He knew it was coming, but didn’t really think about it until that Monday when his alarm went off and he realized he doesn’t have to get up. He turns it off and goes back to sleep. 

The whole day’s open because he hasn’t planned anything, so he decides to go out shopping and finds a bookcase that actually fits in the back of his station wagon. It takes him a while to maneuver it up the stairs by himself, but it’s easier than it was to haul his dresser. 

He’s unpacking, listening to music a little too loudly, and when his phone dings through the speaker, Harry jumps. He quickly responds to Liam’s text that he’s not going to the party at Niall and Zayn’s house. Last year he and Gabe attended the end of summer cookout together and he can’t go back alone. Liam doesn’t ask him for a reason. 

A few hours later, when the party should be in full swing, and Harry’s laying in bed watching a movie, his phone dings again. It’s Louis this time, saying, “They put me in charge of the Slip’n’Slide.” Which Harry completely forgot about. He had so much fun with the kids last year. 

Harry sends him a frowning emoji and follows it up with, “Tell everyone I said hi.” 

A moment later a picture comes through. It’s a selfie. Louis’ arm is outstretched and a group of kids are huddled behind him, all of them standing in front of the Slip’n’Slide, grinning and waving. Louis’ hair looks like he wet it with the hose, and his smile is so wide that there are crinkles beside his eyes. They’re having a blast. 

A text follows the picture. “Everyone says hi, Harold!” 

“Don’t teach them to call me Harold.”

Louis’ response comes right away. “Too late!”

The next day at school, Harry realizes that he missed Liam’s birthday. Sure they had a cupcake for him that Thursday, but at the Labor Day cookout they’d had a birthday cake and everyone sang and Harry missed it. He feels like the worst sort of friend as he orders a t-shirt for Liam that says, “There are two kinds of people in this world: those who can extrapolate from incomplete data.” and pays extra for rushed shipping. 

÷

On Friday, throughout his second period class, Harry sits behind his desk and tries to stop his knee from bouncing, but it’s no use. 

As soon as the bell rings to signal the end of second period, Harry hurries into the storage room, barreling through the other door. “Lou!” The second he steps into Louis’ classroom he sees the student Louis was in the middle of a conversation with. “Sorry,” Harry whispers, backing up as fast as he can and shutting himself inside the storage room. At least he’s pretty sure the student’s a senior on the science team and not one of his own students.

Harry’s still standing there in the storage room, when Louis pulls the door open. Harry squeaks and jumps backwards. 

“Jesus, Harold.”

“Just Harry’s fine,” Harry says, and as soon as he says it, he wants to snap his fingers and rewind the last few minutes of his life.

Louis sighs heavily. “What is it?”

“Oh, um… I, well, I feel stupid now.” Harry chews on his lower lip, looking down at his hands. “I was going to ask what everyone’s doing tonight. Since it’s Niall’s birthday.”

For a few seconds, Louis stares at him, face slack, then he smacks Harry’s shoulder and says, “I thought something was wrong. I told Jess to go on to her next class. You ruined my moment, Harold, I was trying to tell her she’s team captain this year.” 

“Sorry.” Harry winces and says, “I was nervous to ask.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Louis pushes past him into Harry’s classroom, spinning his keys on his fingers, and turning to face Harry when he gets to the door to the hallway. “We’re going to their house—Zayn insisted. Liam’s bringing food. I’m supposed to pick up the cake on the way home. Low key, just hanging out, I think.”

“Okay.” Maybe Niall’s birthday is the perfect excuse to start socializing again.

“Liam’s staying over in my guest room, if you want the couch? Or you could probably stay at Niall and Zayn’s.”

“Can I…” Harry pinches his lip and tugs at it. “Is there anything I can bring?”

Louis walks through the hall to the teacher’s lounge and unlocks the door. “No, Harold, just bring yourself.” 

÷

Harry’s already sweating when he climbs out of his car, fairly certain that the air conditioning is going the way of the broken heater. He reaches around and unsticks his shirt from his back, fanning himself and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. He walks into the garage, joining the other guys around the bar. 

When Louis said Liam was bringing food, he thought he was stopping to pick up pizzas, but lined up on the bar are packages of steaks and Liam’s slicing sweet potatoes. Harry watches Louis roll the grill out into the driveway and light it. Before he can ask, Zayn comes bounding down the stairs with his hands full of summer squash and a roll of foil, and puts Harry to work. It’s good to have something to do with his hands, and he happily accepts a beer from Niall when he comes downstairs and starts pouring them and passing them out. 

Just as Louis said it would be, it’s low key, just the five of them hanging out, and Harry relaxes more with every sip. By the time dinner starts, he’s pretty drunk and thankful that Niall and Zayn offered their guest room so he doesn’t have to worry about getting home. 

They haven’t even brought out the cake yet, and Harry feels like he’s about to burst, he’s eaten so much. Since they all seem to be in the same boat, and Zayn insists that he doesn’t want anyone to help him clean up, Liam and Harry take the hammock, laying side by side and watching Louis attempt to ride the skateboard that Doris left the last time she visited. 

Later, Zayn sings, “Happy birthday!” loudly and offkey, as he descends the basement stairs with a giant chocolate cake. The rest of them join in, and Louis walks over to pull Liam and Harry out of the hammock. Harry only stumbles a little. When the last note is sung, Niall blows out all thirty-three candles on the cake, after Zayn says, “Make a wish.”

Niall closes his eyes and says, “You know my wish.” 

As soon as Niall opens his eyes, Zayn hands him an envelope and they all step a little closer, craning to see over Niall’s shoulders. Harry goes up on his toes for a better look. Niall slides his finger under the edge of the envelope and slowly opens it, reaching inside and pulling out a small, blank, white, rectangular piece of paper. 

When he flips it over, Harry drops back down on his heels, but keeps his eyes glued to the black and white image, hoping that no one notices anything. He glances at Liam, who looks wide-eyed from Niall to Zayn to Harry. Harry shakes his head once and tries to smile to say he’s alright. 

“That’s a baby,” Louis says, snatching the ultrasound printout from Niall’s hand. “Who’s baby is that?”

“Ours,” Zayn says, with tears in his eyes. “A perfectly healthy baby girl. We were waiting to tell everyone because there were some problems early on, but we’ve known since July.”

Niall exhales a shaky breath and says, “How’d you…”

“She called me Tuesday, right after her appointment. Brought this to me that afternoon.”

They seem lost in their own world and Harry feels like he’s intruding. Thankfully, Louis starts cutting up the cake, handing out slices, and hurrying everyone through. He carries the rest of it upstairs while Harry stares at his piece of cake, scraping the icing with his fork and smearing it around the plate. 

“Louis,” Harry calls and drops his plate into the trash to chase after him up the stairs. “Hey, can I take you up on the couch offer? I’d rather not stay here tonight. They should have the house to themselves.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods and smiles, closing the lid to the cake box, then tilts his head to the side and says, “You okay?”

His first instinct is to lie, so Harry nods, but then he says, “No, but… later?”

“Alright, Harold. Let’s go. Liam’s probably ready.” Louis leads him back downstairs, where they say their goodbyes and Harry hugs Niall twice since it’s his birthday. 

At Louis’ house, Liam goes straight for the guest room, and Louis disappears into his bedroom, leaving Harry standing in the living room unsure of what to do until Louis reappears with his arms full of blankets and pillows. Silently, they make up the couch, and when the blankets are spread out over the cushions, Harry drops down into the corner and says, “Sit?”

Louis sits in the other corner and Harry waits while he kicks off his shoes and pulls his feet up onto the couch. Then Louis pointedly clears his throat and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, um…” He’s trying to be better about getting to the point, even when it makes him want to throw up. “Gabe and I are divorcing because he decided he didn’t want to have kids.”

“Oh, well, fuck me. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I think so. I just wasn’t expecting—”

“They didn’t know, did they?”

“No, no, um… Liam knows, and now you, but…”

“You don’t have to explain, Harold.”

“Louis, I…” Harry reaches out and swats at Louis’ socked foot. “Stop saying that.”

“Sorry,” Louis says and pokes Harry’s leg with his toe. 

“You know, I’m…” Harry sighs. “It’s fine. I’m around babies all the time. I was just surprised. Like, I wasn’t prepared, so it was a little overwhelming.”

“Like at Easter?” 

Harry rests his chin on his knee. “You knew?”

“Not at the time, no. I thought it was maybe too much for you? Like you were realizing how tough it can be with how the twins were crying and stuff. Knew you weren’t sick, but I didn’t put it together until now.”

“Oh, well, yeah… Spring break was sort of a turning point. I told Gabe that night, actually.” It’s strange because it seems so long ago when Harry thinks back, but it hasn’t even been a full five months. 

“I’m sorry, Harold,” Louis says quietly and lets his legs drop to the side, turning and starting to push himself up off the couch.

“Wait. Can you…” Harry points to the television. “You don’t have to stay up with me, but can I watch a movie or something?” 

“Sure.” Louis settles back down on the couch. “I’ll stay up for a little bit.”

While Harry turns on the TV and finds a Spongebob marathon, Louis goes to the kitchen, and returns with two glasses of water. Harry rearranges the blanket over his legs and lifts it up for Louis to get underneath when he sits back down. They don’t talk anymore, but it feels good just to know that he can if he wants to.

When he wakes up in the morning, his cheek is pressed against Louis’ thigh and there’s a damp spot on his jean shorts from Harry’s drool. He turns his head to find Louis still asleep, head tilted back and resting on the couch cushion, so he tries to get up without disturbing him, and sneaks out the front door. Hopefully he can get some more sleep in his own bed and hopefully Louis won’t be bothered that he skipped out on breakfast. 

÷

The first of October, Liam walks into Harry’s classroom before the homeroom bell rings and says, “I want to be a cup of coffee.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly and looks down at the travel cup of coffee in his hand.

“For Halloween.”

“Oh, oh… Yeah, okay. I’ll be an egg again. And Louis’ll be bacon. What about Niall?”

“Toast?”

Harry nods and purses his lips, but a laugh bursts out of him unexpectedly. “Sorry,” he says when he catches his breath. “Just… I thought of a way to make toast, maybe with poster board. So, a toast sandwich board?”

“How many times do you think you’ll say that over the next month?” Liam asks, but Harry just shrugs. It’s not like he’s going to count. 

The weather gets milder as October passes and by Halloween Harry doesn’t care that the air conditioner in his car doesn’t work. In the parking lot after school, he stops to stand beside Louis and Liam and watch as Niall tries to convince Zayn to wear Liam’s coffee cup costume for the neighborhood party. 

“Hey,” Louis says and elbows Harry in the side. “You want to come? Lottie and Fizzy are coming. The twins are walking now, you know.”

“Really?” Harry grins and says, “Yeah, I’ll come. You’d look silly as a piece of bacon alone.” If Louis’ sisters will be there, he can apologize for his behavior at Easter. Harry steps off the sidewalk and unlocks his car, dropping his things into the back seat. “Alright, I’ll see you in a little while.” 

The expression on Zayn’s face is so unimpressed that Harry sputters a laugh just as he turns the ignition. So he thinks nothing of it when the car cranks but doesn’t start on the first turn. But after the second and third time, he decides it’s probably not nothing. 

Harry jumps and whips his head towards the window when Louis knocks on it. He mimes rolling down the window, but Harry opens the door instead. “My car won’t start.”

“No, shit, Harold. You want a ride?”

“Yes, please.” Harry gets his things from the back seat and locks his car, climbing into Louis minivan. “That didn’t sound like the battery.”

“Probably should have it towed. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” Harry opens his phone and starts searching for reasons for his car to crank, but not start, but he has a feeling that it doesn’t matter. It’s more than a decade old, no heat, no air. He needs to see about buying something newer and in better shape. So he stops reading about fuel line problems and looks up local car dealerships. “I feel like I should be more upset that I’m probably going to have to get a new car.”

“Maybe it’s just time.” Louis shrugs and glances over at Harry. “Are you going to be cool like Zayn and Niall and get a smart car or cool like me and get a minivan?”

“I don’t know. Cool like me is apparently a ten year old stationwagon. Maybe I’ll just upgrade.”

“Do they even make station wagons anymore?”

Harry quickly searches and finds that they do, in fact, still make station wagons. “They’re called wagons. Like Subaru makes the Outback and Volkswagen makes one too.”

“Well, there you go. You’ve already narrowed it down.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, distracted by his own thoughts as he wonders if it’s stupid to consider his distant, future, imaginary children in this sort of decision. Whether or not it is, he can’t help but wonder if either of those have plenty of room for rear-facing car seats. 

On the way to Louis’ house, as they’re approaching the exit near Harry’s apartment complex, Harry realizes that Louis is going to have to bring him back home later that night. He asks if he can stay over instead. As fast as he can, Harry runs up to his apartment and grabs a change of clothes. 

When they finally get to the neighborhood, the roads are all blocked, so Louis parks a few streets over. Lottie and Fizzy are far too understanding when Harry apologizes and Harry assumes that Louis has already told them about Gabe. It feels like the cowardly way to do it, but he’s asked the guys and his mom and Gemma to sort of spread the word. 

They find Niall and walk around for a while together, leaving Zayn to pass out candy. When they get back, Zayn is ready to call it a night, and isn’t exactly thrilled that he handed out most of the candy himself. They say a quick goodbye, Harry pulls his hood up over his head and backs down the driveway beside Louis, turning around at the edge of the road. Harry glances over at Louis and says, “Things will be different for them next year with a baby.” 

Louis looks up quickly, eyebrows drawn together, but after he meets Harry’s eyes, his face relaxes and he says, “Yeah. They aren’t going to want to host all this shit either.” 

“When is the baby due? Do you know?”

“February. The eighth or ninth, I think.” Louis jogs up his front steps and turns, watching Harry climb up behind him. “You’re okay?”

Harry smiles up at him from the second step. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m fine.”

After he unlocks the door, Louis steps aside and lets Harry through the door before shutting and locking it. Even though Harry knows where the second bedroom is, he follows Louis and waits patiently while he shows him the bathroom. “I want you to have the full B&B experience.”

“Hey, Louis,” Harry sets his things on the bed and turns around. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a good friend to you when you and Ethan broke up.”

“Harry,” Louis says, tone sharp, and Harry jerks back slightly. “Stop apologizing for like, life. I wasn’t the greatest friend either. You and Gabe were apparently going through some shit and I thought, um… I didn’t notice.”

“You thought what?”

Louis watches him, frowning. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“What for?” 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is stop apologizing. If you think you weren’t a good friend, then just be a better friend.” Louis shrugs and pushes away from the door frame. 

“Okay,” Harry says and takes a step towards Louis in the open door. “I promise to be a better friend to you.” 

“Alright, Harold.” Louis waves him closer and holds his arms open for a hug. “We leave at six. I’m in the shower at five-thirty. Get some sleep.” He backs out of the room and closes the door as he leaves. 

Harry falls asleep that night while scrolling through listings of used cars for sale in the area, before setting his alarm. He wakes up late and his hair is still dripping when he climbs into the front seat of Louis’ minivan. 

In some of the fastest shopping Harry’s ever done, he comes home with a light blue minivan before lunch on Saturday.

÷ 


	13. Chapter 13

÷ 

By mid-November, Harry is ready for a break from the inside of his own head. Living alone isn’t all that different in practice, but what’s strange is the change in what he does in his spare time. It almost seems backwards. He no longer daydreams over real estate listings, and deleted the Pinterest app from his phone. Everyone in his life seems to have heard about his divorce by now, so the uncomfortable initial conversations have dwindled, and Harry’s life resembles something normal. Whatever that is.

He teaches. He reads books and watches television and hangs out with his friends. He works on his grad school application, and fucks around online, and doesn’t get enough sleep even though he spends a large percentage of his time in bed, having no other place to sit. 

The night before his flight home for Thanksgiving, Harry brings his suitcase over to Louis’ house. When Harry gets there, he finds Louis sitting on his front step, talking on the phone. While he waits, Harry goes through his mail that he picked up on the way out. Bills, a very early Christmas card from his aunt, and an envelope from his lawyer’s office, which immediately stills his hands.

Despite knowing what’s inside, Harry slowly slides his index finger under the flap and pulls out the single piece of paper. 

He’s been divorced since the end of October. 

A judge granted the divorce on Monday, the twenty-eighth of October, and his lawyer’s office will send him a copy of the final judgment if he wants to pay a nominal fee. He slides the paper back into the envelope. 

It was finalized almost a month ago and he had no idea. Oddly enough, he wants to text Gabe and let him know, but he’ll probably receive his own notice in the mail soon if he hasn’t already. And they agreed on a clean break. Instead of sending him a message, Harry opens their text conversation and deletes the entire thing. 

Dropping his chin to his chest, Harry closes his eyes tightly and tries to trick himself into not being upset by thinking about visiting his family. All that does is make him think about the reminders of Gabe and of their marriage that are likely still all over his mom’s house. So he climbs out of the car, envelope still in hand, and almost bowls Louis over.

“Harold?” Louis grabs Harry’s upper arms, ducks down until Harry meets his gaze, and says, “Alright?”

“I’m divorced. Officially.” Harry waves the envelope in front of his face. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I knew it was coming.”

Louis hums and squeezes Harry’s arms before letting go and taking a small step back. “Want to talk about it or just get drunk?”

Holding the envelope in both hands, Harry stares at it, then he folds it up and slides it into his back pocket. “Option two, please.” 

They walk up to Niall and Zayn’s and find them in the backyard by the firepit. It’s just the four of them and it takes Harry to his fifth beer to decide to burn the letter from the lawyer. The fire consumes it quickly and while it’s a lot less satisfying than Harry wants it to be, at least it doesn’t make him feel worse. In his peripheral vision, he can see Louis glance over at him, so he turns and tries to reassure him with a smile. 

Long after midnight, just when Harry’s decided to lay back in the grass beside the fire and take a little nap, Louis appears and helps him to his feet. They leave Niall to put out the fire and when Harry hits his head on the stop sign at the corner because he’s too busy watching his shoes traveling over the broken pavement, Louis loops his arm around Harry’s waist and guides him down the street. 

“My mom’s got a picture of us on the wall,” Harry mumbles as Louis steers him up the steps. 

“Hmm?” Louis asks distractedly while he unlocks his front door. He leads Harry to the kitchen and pours them both a glass of water, then looks at Harry expectantly.

It takes him a moment to remember what they were talking about. “I mean me and Gabe. She still had our wedding photos up when I was there in the summer, and like, I don’t know. I don’t want to ask her to like, redecorate.”

Louis laughs into his water glass and coughs, spitting water into his hand. He wipes his hand off on his sweatpants and says, “Harold. You worry about the strangest things.”

“I just don’t want to like, have to look at pictures of us when we were happy. I don’t know. I boxed up all of my framed pictures and stuff and I deleted everything from my phone. I just… Every time I look at a picture of me and Gabe, I wonder if he already knew. Like, there’s one of us at the hospital after Gemma had her oldest. And we’re sitting there holding my newborn nephew together, and I was so happy… and I want to know what he was thinking in that moment.” Harry shrugs and drains his water glass, setting it in the sink. 

“Harold…” Louis lifts one arm like he’s considering offering a hug, but Harry shakes his head and walks over to the couch, dropping all of his weight down at once. 

He lets his body sink into the cushion and closes his eyes, wondering if this is just what breakups are like, and he’s taking it especially hard because he’s inexperienced. 

It used to be something that he felt proud of, that he’d brag about to himself, that Gabe was not only his husband, but his only real relationship. He feels pretty naive for thinking that way now. 

Slowly, Harry rolls his head to the side and watches Louis as he lowers himself down to sit beside him on the couch. “I thought I was in it forever, you know?” Harry says quietly, and when Louis simply nods, he continues, “Feels like I failed or something. Like I didn’t try hard enough. Should’ve made him go to counseling.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers. “Do you think it would’ve changed anything?”

“No, it would’ve just dragged it out, probably.” Harry pulls his knees up onto the couch and tucks his feet underneath himself. “You know you see divorces in movies and hear about your friends or witness your parents going through one, and I guess they’re all different? But at the end it was like… I don’t know. It wasn’t even dramatic. We went down and filed together, signed all of the paperwork, and… it was like a business transaction.”

Neither of them say anything while Louis kicks his feet up onto the coffee table and pushes his back into the corner of the sofa. “Ethan wanted to stay together. I asked him to move in with me and he said no, but was surprised when I wanted to end things.” Louis crosses his arms and lifts his eyes to meet Harry’s, as if expecting to have to defend his decision. 

“You didn’t want the same future.” Harry sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites down, his own words remind him of the piece of paper with the word ‘babies’ on the bottom. After he threw it away, he didn’t start a new one.

“Yeah, exactly.” Louis relaxes his neck and lets his head fall back. While he talks, Harry watches the underside of his jaw move, his drunken mind getting lost in the light reflecting off of Louis’ beard, but somehow still capable of listening to at least half of what he’s saying. “It was like, as soon as I asked him to move in, the look on his face… I knew. And I think I started falling out of love with him then.”

Harry looks up at the ceiling. “Same. And I feel guilty about it. I know that you can never, like, fully know somebody, but… I don’t know. It’s like, that’s a part of someone you should know. Am I making sense?” He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and tilts his head.

“I think so.” Louis lifts his arm and scratches at his hair, pulling at it and lifting his head to look at Harry. “I don’t think love is something you can control like that.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Not like, no, I mean, not like cheating or anything. No. I mean, you can control shit like that. Don’t put yourself in situations where it can happen. People know when they’re attracted to someone, they know when they’re flirting. That’s not…” Louis takes a breath and speaks slowly. “Not what I meant.” 

“Okay…” Harry purses his lips and asks again, “What do you mean?”

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes. “I mean that, yeah, relationships are work, but like… If you aren’t both working for the same goals, or if one person isn’t willing to put in the effort… Even if you love someone and want things to work, you can’t control it. Them. Or even yourself, to an extent. You can’t control your feelings. Feelings just… are.”

“You should write a book or something. An advice column.”

“What? _How To Live Alone In Your Mid-Thirties_ by Louis Tomlinson?” Louis drops his head back and laughs, then pushes himself up from the sofa so fast that Harry jerks back a little. Louis looks down and offers Harry a hand up. “Or, a better title, _How To Get Drunk and Philosophical Over Home-Brew Beer.”_

Harry snorts and follows Louis down the hall, pulling his hoodie over his head as he talks. “You could call it _How To Be A Really Amazing Friend.”_ The words are muffled by the fabric of his sweatshirt covering his mouth, but he yanks hard and the hoodie comes off, almost taking his t-shirt with it. Tugging his shirt down, Harry looks up at Louis standing in the guest room doorway. His cheeks are pink and he looks sleepy and comfortable in his loose off-white sweater, and grey sweatpants tucked into his socks. Hopefully his bed is warm. 

“No one would read that, Harold. The title’s too long,” Louis says and his mouth stretches into a yawn. He steps out of the way and across the hall to his own room, disappearing behind the door without saying good night. The guest bed pulls Harry in; he sinks into the mattress, and is asleep before he can turn off the lamp on the bedside table. 

In the morning, Harry refuses Louis’ offer to drive him to the airport, insisting that he drive himself because his return flight is supposed to get in late. When he walks through the door to his mom’s house, bracing himself for his first glimpse of the large family photo with Gabe on the far left, standing just behind him with his hand on Harry’s hip, he’s surprised. In its place is a different picture of him, his mom, and Gemma, the three of them leaning their heads together and smiling up at the camera. Relief relaxes his shoulders and he carries his bag to the bedroom, less nervous about the holiday. 

÷

The end of the year is always so full from minute to minute and somehow seems to drag on and rush by at the same time. By the time school resumes after Thanksgiving, it’s December. And since Harry’s managed to keep his house plant alive, he figures why not try his hand at a tree. After all, those come in plastic. He buys a small, white, artificial tree with multi-colored lights, for his apartment, and for his classroom, he buys a few boxes of cheap plastic ornaments, some strands of twinkly lights, and a new package of Sharpies in every color. 

At the beginning of each class period, Harry hands a box of ornaments to one student with the instructions to take one and pass it on, then he does the same with a coffee cup full of Sharpies, and moves to stand in the front of the room. 

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, and I don’t want your names on these. But if you’d like, take a marker and write something nice on an ornament. Doesn’t have to be holiday related, doesn’t have to be a general statement, though it can be. You can write whatever you want—within reason,” Harry says and raises one eyebrow, looking around the room before continuing, “Write ‘Mr. Styles is awesome!’ or ‘Happy New Year!’ or I suppose you could write something specific to one person. Then, when everyone’s finished, just come up and put them in here.” Harry drops an ornament in the empty plastic bin and shakes it. “I’m going to string them across the ceiling.” 

He keeps his promise and doesn’t read any of them at first, spending the first few class periods discussing their most recent assignment on _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ while he attaches little hooks to the ceiling, and hangs blinking rainbow lights all over the room. 

At the end of the day, Harry mixes all five of his classes’ ornaments together, and starts placing them on hooks on the wires crisscrossing the ceiling panels. As he hangs each one, he reads it, and decides that it’s something he wants to do every year with all of his future students. 

Some of the messages are as simple as the word ‘LOVE’ in all capital letters with a heart for an O, or ‘Happy Holidays’ and most are general messages intended for everyone. A few are different. One says ‘I hate xmas’ and it makes Harry frown and pout a little, wishing he knew whose it was so that he could make sure they’re okay. There are a few that say things like ‘Mr. Styles is a cool teacher’ and ‘Merry Christmas, Mr. Styles’. A lot of the ornaments are obviously written to boyfriends and girlfriends and crushes, with initials in place of names, and Harry hangs them all up. 

Every time Harry walks into his classroom, he smiles up at the sparkling lights and ornaments, and as soon as he gets home he starts setting up his tree. It’s only maybe four feet tall once it’s fully assembled, but it looks strange and bare. But he left all of the ornaments he’d collected over the years with Gabe, not wanting the job of weeding through them to find the ones that don’t remind him of their marriage. 

In a box in his closet, there are a few ornaments that his mom gave him at Thanksgiving. Old ones from his childhood that were gifts from his grandparents that say things like ‘First Christmas’ with Harry’s name and birthday engraved underneath. He hangs them on the tree, but there aren’t many, and just those few ornaments almost make the rest of the tree look emptier, if possible. 

The next day at school, Harry pulls out the two extra packages of ornaments that he was planning to save for his classes next year, and puts them with his things in the teacher’s lounge so he’ll remember to take them home. During their group planning period, Liam asks if Harry’s having more students write on them, and Harry briefly explains that he’s just going to hang them on his own tree since he doesn’t have any other decorations. 

At the end of the day, Harry takes them home, and doesn’t notice until he opens the box and picks up the first ornament, that they’ve been written on. ‘Harry Christmas’ and ‘Lump of Coal’ and smiley faces with X’s for eyes and little Santa hats. Every ornament has its own message and by the time he finishes hanging them up, he’s wearing a ridiculous grin. 

Harry steps back to admire his little tree and laughs when he looks around the room and, still, the only piece of furniture in it is a small side table that he bought months ago. At least the tree looks good. He grabs the box he plans to use to ship the gifts to his mom’s house and sets it in front of the tree, then moves it to the side. It’s too big and too… cardboard. 

Instead, Harry pulls a small rectangular package from a cabinet in the kitchen. The paper is bright blue and the ribbon is too and it fits perfectly underneath his little tree. Harry takes a picture and sends it to Louis, adding that he knows all of the ornament messages about his hair are from him.

Little by little, he’s starting to feel… better. Like this is his life and not some phase or something that he’s trying on or waiting to grow out of. He likes it. Likes his friends and his job and his place and his hobbies. It’s not bad at all, and sadly when he thinks about it, it’s better than it was when he was married. 

÷

After catching up on some of essays he hadn’t gotten around to grading, Harry spends his days off packing and cleaning and doing laundry. He’s trying to decide if he should ask Louis to let him stay over on Christmas Eve since he needs to drive to the airport so early the following morning, when his phone vibrates in his pocket with a text from Louis asking him to do just that. Before he can respond, another text comes through asking what exactly Harry’s plans are for Christmas Eve. When Harry says, “Nothing,” his phone rings almost as soon as he sends the text. 

“Hello?”

“Harold. What are your plans for Christmas Eve?”

“Nothing, really. You said you’d spend all day with your family, so I was going to just… come over after. Is that okay?”

“You’re not doing anything else all day?”

“No. Well…” Before he says it, Harry’s pretty sure his answer will be unsatisfactory. “I figured I’d watch TV.” 

Louis sighs and says, “Do you want to come to my mom’s house?”

“I don’t want to interfere with your family time, Lou.”

“You’re invited. Like, my mom already said, ’cause I told her you’d be in town, so she’ll be disappointed if you don’t come.”

Harry doesn’t pretend not to be pleased. It wasn’t his intention, though when he realized he’d probably be bored all day until Louis got home, he wished he’d thought ahead and made some additional plans. But this beats anything he could’ve thought of doing. “All of your family? Like, the babies?”

“Yes, Harold. All of the babies will be there.” Louis whistles and Harry pulls the phone from his ear to look at it, as if Louis can see him scowling at him. “I’ll leave here at eleven tomorrow, so make sure you’re not late,” he says, then hangs up after a perfunctory goodbye, while Harry’s still holding the phone to his ear. He shakes his head and sets his alarm, so that he won’t be late.

÷

At quarter to eleven, Harry pulls into Louis’ driveway and parks beside his minivan. He hurries up the steps with his bags, but Louis opens the door before he can knock. It’s later than Harry usually drinks coffee, but he takes a cup when Louis passes it to him, and tries to drink it quickly so he doesn’t waste it. He swallows the last sip just in time, and follows Louis back out of his house, dodging around the full cup of coffee in his hand. 

It’s not a very long drive, but his family does live on the complete opposite end of the city, so it takes a little while. And by the time they’re almost there, Harry’s convinced that he’s barging in on private time between Louis and his family and he didn't even bring a hostess gift. He makes Louis stop so he can run into a shop and buy a nice bottle of wine for Louis’ mom. 

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Harry asks when he climbs out of Louis’ van and looks up at the imposing two story Colonial style home. “I shouldn’t have come.” 

While the inside of Harry’s head is busy spinning, assuming the worst—that Louis’ entire family will think he’s horrible and lonely and divorced and unlovable, since those are clearly the only reasons for Harry to be allowed to join Louis on his birthday—he waits for Louis to agree. 

“Did you not want to come?” Louis asks, walking around to the passenger side of the van, close enough that Harry can see the furrow in his brow when he says, “I can take you back, but, I mean… I wish you’d—”

“No, I wanted to come. I just… don’t want them to think I’m some loser, leeching off—”

“Jesus Christ, Harold. You already know half of them from Halloween and stuff. No one thinks that. I mean, I’m starting to, but…” 

Harry tugs on the sleeve of Louis’ coat and says, “I haven’t met people, like, outside of my marriage. Every person I know, knew me as Gabe’s husband.”

“Don’t be like that, man. I knew you before and I know you now. You’re the same person. Annoying as fuck and making me freeze to death outside when I could be inside by the fireplace…” Louis trails off, looking wistfully at the front door. 

“Alright. Let’s go. I’m sorry for making you freeze to death.” Harry takes a few steps up the walk and turns back to wait for Louis to join him, following him to the door and inside the house. “It’s like forty-five degrees, by the way.” 

“Shut up, Harold,” Louis tosses back over his shoulder, but he stops short as soon as he faces forward. His chin drops and when Harry steps up behind him, Louis says, “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he presses his lips together, trying not to laugh, but unable to keep from smiling. “It’s okay, Lou. Extenuating circumstances with the weather and all.” Louis scoffs and Harry lifts a hand to wave at Louis’ mom. “Hi, I’m Harry.”

“Harold.” Using both hands and gesturing like he’s giving a presentation, Louis says, “This is my mom. She’ll tell you to call her Jay, so do that.” He walks over and wraps her up in a hug and it makes Harry miss his own mom, even though he’ll see her in the morning. As different people wander in and out of the house, Harry realizes that he really has already met most of Louis’ family. 

Louis leads him through the house to the den, where Doris and Ernest have corralled all four of their nieces and nephews. There’s a gate in the doorway, so Louis climbs over it, but Harry stays on the other side and takes Teddy when Doris carries him over. He bounces Teddy on his hip, while watching Louis crawl around on the floor with one toddler after another being placed on his back, Ernest always careful to stay close by in case they decide to try toppling to floor, while Doris keeps the other two from interfering. 

“Hey.” Harry turns to find Lottie standing next to him. She reaches out and tickles Teddy under his chin, smiling when he gurgles at her. Without taking her eyes off of her nephew, she says, “Louis asked me to make extra mac and cheese for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry mutters, embarrassed at the thought of anyone going out of their way for him, especially today. He shifts the baby onto his shoulder and Lottie rests her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“I know I didn’t have to. I was glad to do it,” Lottie says, leaning up and placing a gentle hand on Teddy’s back. “It’s good to see you, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers as she walks away, clearing his throat before turning back to watch Louis where he’s practically being pulled in three different directions by what look like tiny jolly elves, with the twin girls pulling his hands and William pulling one foot, and all three of them in red and green striped pajamas. 

Before any of them see it coming, Louis uses his feet to grab William, twists his wrists to free himself from the girls’ grasps, and sits up. Within a few seconds, he has his legs crossed and all three kids sitting in his lap. Harry watched it happen and still doesn’t know how he did it. 

Louis kisses each of them on top of their heads and passes them to Ernest and Doris, then stands up and walks to the gate. “Hello, Theodore.”

After kissing his forehead, Louis kisses the insides of Teddy’s wrists, walking him over and setting him on the floor with his cousins. “Sorry about that, Harold.”

“About what?” Harry asks, stepping back so that Louis can climb back over the gate. 

“That,” Louis says, waving an all-encompassing hand around the room. 

“Don’t be stupid, Louis.” Harry tries to elbow him, but he’s too busy waving at the girls who are blowing him kisses. “I love them.”

When they leave that evening, they both have little containers of macaroni and cheese to take home. 

Halfway home, Harry says, “I didn’t make cookies this year.”

“Oh?” Louis glances over and meets Harry’s eyes, quickly turning back to look at the road. “You want to stop and buy some cookie dough?”

Harry shakes his head once, realizes Louis can’t see him, and says, “No. It’s a recipe. A tradition, I guess.” When Louis just hums, Harry looks over, shifting in his seat so he can see Louis without turning his head. “It’s dumb. The dough has to sit for like a day or two before you bake the cookies, the recipe’s a pain in the ass, like I use a scale and weigh everything, it takes hours, and it only makes eighteen cookies, but they’re really, really good. I’ve made them every Christmas for like… Wow. Twenty years.”

Since the sun was setting before they left, the entire ride home is dark except for the artificial light coming from outside the car and the blueish light from the dash. He studies Louis’ profile, shifting gaze getting caught on his eyelashes when he blinks, and dropping to the flickering light in his beard as he speaks and his mouth moves. 

“They were good.”

“Hmm?” Harry lifts his face slightly and raises his eyebrows.

“The cookies you gave me last year.” Louis looks over and smiles. “They were good. I don’t know that they’re worth all the trouble, but they were the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had.” 

“I’ll make you some,” Harry offers immediately. He forgot that he gave Louis half of his cookies last year. 

“Don’t, Harry,” Louis says seriously. “That’s too much effort.”

“It’s not. I’ll make a batch and we’ll each take half.”

“Not today though.” Louis’ voice is firm, and Harry wants to argue on principle, but it’s not like he has all of the ingredients, and he _is_ flying out early in the morning, so finally, he reluctantly agrees. When he does, Louis says, “You should show me how to make them.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

All day long, they’ve both had nothing to drink but water on top of coffee that morning, but Harry feels drunk. Tipsy. Just on the right side of buzzed where his brain feels lighter and his body feels slightly heavier, but in a warm, comfortable way. A couple of deep breaths and a quick mental check of himself and he confirms that he’s completely sober, just very relaxed. 

When they get back to Louis’, Harry turns his head to look up at his old house. Some of the shades are up and he can see curtains and lamps and chairs and pictures on the walls, and he’s glad that people who live there now are actually using the house instead of pretending to, the way he and Gabe did. The way he is now. The thought takes him by surprise and he decides that he’s getting a couch by the end of the year, even if he has to go back to Ikea.

Louis has a small tree in his living room. Not as small as Harry’s, and it’s green, not white, but the colorful bulbs are vibrant and when they’re the only source of light, the room seems warmer and cozier. Harry wants to curl up on the couch with a blanket and never go back to his apartment where he can either sit on a stool, his bed, the kitchen counter, or the floor. 

Instead, he goes back to the guest room and opens the shopping bag he brought in with his suitcase earlier. Louis is standing in the kitchen when Harry returns from the bedroom, bright blue package in hand, and he turns to watch Harry approach, lifting the open bottle of wine in his hand towards Harry like a question. 

Harry nods and says, “Just a little. I have to get up early.” He sets the package on the countertop beside the wine, taking the glass Louis pours for him. “Happy birthday.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up and open it.” Harry tips his glass at Louis, then takes a sip and walks over to the couch, sitting so that he’s centered right in front of the tree. There are all different styles and types of ornaments on the tree: handmade ones from clay and yarn and beads, mismatched store bought stars and baubles, brass and glass that catch the twinkling light and make the entire tree sparkle. Harry’s so caught up in trying to figure out the origin of each ornament—the tiny clay handprints are probably Lottie’s kids’ crafts, and there’s a photo ornament that Harry’s almost sure contains a picture of a tiny toddler Louis Tomlinson—that he completely misses Louis unwrapping his gift.

“Harold, what…” Louis tuts and pulls the tissue paper away. He sighs and says, “I’ll be really pissed off when I ruin this, you know.” The paper falls away when he lifts the travel mug out of the box, turning it side to side to examine it. “How’d you…”

“I asked Doris at Halloween and she drew it, Lottie scanned it and emailed it to me. So it’s sort of the same art, but she says she’s improved it.” Harry taps the side of the cup, pointing to the shading and lettering, then he takes it and places it back in the box, and says, “Don’t worry about ruining it. I hand wash mine every day at school, so I’ll just do yours too.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees, clearing his throat and scratching his beard along his jaw. He smiles and says, “Thank you.”

“Welc—” Harry yawns and slaps his hand over his mouth, embarrassed at his own surprise. “Welcome. Sorry. Last year Christmas Eve was better.”

Louis’ eyebrows draw together, and he pushes his back into the arm of the couch, but the lines on his forehead disappear a second later. “Do you wish you and Gabe were still together?”

Harry sucks in a sharp breath. “No. Why?”

“Well, what was better about Christmas Eve last year?” Louis tilts his head expectantly and Harry feels like the room is shifting under him. 

“I don’t know. There was punch? I wasn’t practically falling asleep on the couch at…” Harry’s eyes dart around the room, looking for a clock, “Not even eight o’clock at night. There were cookies. It was a good night.”

“Yeah, okay. But this year’s better, I think,” Louis says, and Harry shrugs nodding his head from side to side. Last year, he remembers his Christmas Day conversation with Gemma about his marriage, his decision to try harder, his promise to make things work, and the steady decline of their relationship after that. Last year, Harry remembers Christmas Eve as a bright spot, before everything surrounding him dimmed. 

“I had fun with your family today.” Harry reaches his foot across the couch and pokes Louis’ shin with his big toe. “How long has that been going on? Do you ever do anything else for your birthday?” 

Louis shakes his head, and drops his hand on Harry’s foot, pinching at the material of his sock, then gently sliding his hand under Harry’s ankle, lifting it and pushing his leg back over to Harry’s side of the couch. “Not in years. A couple of times I’ve had dates later that night, and Ethan came with me once, our third Christmas together. Said he felt like he was intruding and didn’t come back the next year. And, I mean, we broke up like a month later, so…”

Something twists in Harry’s stomach, and he thinks again that Louis is better off without his ex. It twists the other way, and Harry realizes that he’s better off too. He lifts his wine glass and says, “You’re right. This Christmas Eve is better than last year.” Tipping his wine until the lip just touches Louis’ glass, Harry purses his lips, scrunches his nose, and says, “Happy birthday, Lou.”

÷ 

In the morning, after his flight, once he gets to his mom’s house, he spends hours holding his newest nephew Thomas. 

He stays the rest of the week, lazing around his mom’s house, playing with his nephews, and doing little chores whenever his mom tells him to. On Friday morning, Gemma’s husband Jamie takes the boys home, and she and Harry spend most of the day watching old movies, and wrapping up the breakable Christmas decorations for their mom. 

It’s Friday afternoon when Harry thinks of Gabe. First, in a passing manner, the image of his parents’ home at Christmas flitting through his head. Then, as it goes by, he straightens up in his seat, spine rigid. In the month since he got notice of their divorce being finalized, he’s thought of Gabe somewhat regularly, but this time, it feels different. 

He intentionally wonders what Gabe might be doing, whether he’s home with his family or, more likely, working. It’s as if the part of him that pulled on Harry’s heart has disconnected. There’s no tug in his gut when he thinks about him or when he pictures his face, which has become distorted in his memory, a collage of his expressions in the most memorable photographs of the two of them together. 

Harry pulls on the short hairs at the back of his neck and scratches at his skin, relaxing back into the couch to watch the rest of _Love, Actually_ with his mom and sister.

Later that night, when Gemma brings him his second hot cocoa with too much peppermint schnapps, she flops down into what the family now refers to as her recliner, and says, “New year, new you? Resolutions? New Year’s Eve plans? What are the hip, young, and single doing these days?”

“You know, when you talk like that, you sound like Dan Rather.”

“That is… less insulting than I expect from you. You’re going soft in your old age.”

“You literally just called me hip and young,” Harry scoffs and tips his cup back too fast, gulping the cocoa and burning his tongue. 

Gemma raises her eyebrows, points a finger at him, and says, “And single.”

Harry blows a raspberry, props his elbow on his knee, and rests his chin in his hand. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“You’d rather me say ‘divorced’?”

“No, just… when you say it like that, I’m waiting for you to follow it up with ‘and ready to mingle’ and I’m… I don’t know…”

Gemma snorts and spins her recliner side to side. “It’ll be weird, watching you navigate the dating world.”

“Jesus, you sound like a commercial for a dating app.”

“You’ve never even used one, have you?”

Harry shakes his head and says, “Not sure I’m ready for that.”

“What do you do? Like, I know you work a lot, and you’re thinking about going back to school.”

“I am. I’m going back to school. Got my acceptance last week. I start this summer. Should have my masters in three years.” Harry sets his mostly empty mug of cocoa on the coffee table and pushes it far enough away that he won’t accidentally kick it over. “I don’t know what I _do_ though. I’ve been running more. Reading more. Volunteering through this program at the library. I hang out with my friends.”

“Your friends.” Gemma tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “Friends who demand you spend Christmas Eve with them, when you should be here with your family?”

“What was that?”

“Did you like it? I was trying to be all haughty and offended.” She lifts her cup in a silent toast to herself and says, “Louis, right? A Christmas Eve birthday must suck.”

“It was really nice, actually. We spent the day with his family. They’re all great and he’s got tons of sisters. You’d love them. And babies. Nieces and nephews.”

“Wow, the hip, young, and single today have really toned it down,” Gemma says with a roll of her eyes.

“Shut up, it was fun. Louis is fun.” Harry twists his lips and scowls, trying to think of a way to describe Louis for his sister, without making him seem boring, which is apparently her impression of him so far. “Louis is a great person to just like… sit and kind of like… just admire what he’s like.”

Gemma sputters into her hot cocoa and some of it splashes onto her white sweater, so their conversation ends there. 

When she drives him to the airport in the morning, he asks her, just to be sure, not to judge Louis on his description of him, because he’s a wonderful person. And he reassures her that he’ll introduce him whenever she comes to visit him next. 

He drags his suitcase behind him, texting Louis as he walks, letting him know that he’s started a rumor that Louis is secretly an eighty-four year old man in disguise. 

When his plane lands and he turns his phone on, it dings with a message from Louis, one balding old man emoji. Harry sends him two back, and laughs when three dots immediately appear only to be replaced by two middle finger emojis. 

After he eats and unpacks and starts a load of laundry, Harry texts Louis again, a single home emoji. Again the dots appear, but when the text comes through, there aren’t any emojis. Just Louis’ words, “Impossible, Harold. I’m home and I don’t see you anywhere.”

Harry pinches the neck of his t-shirt and stretches it out, ducking down into it for a second, before dropping the fabric and fanning himself. He sends Louis an eyeroll emoji and a sleeping emoji, then drops his phone onto his mattress and walks away, returning for it a moment later so that he can listen to music while he showers. 

While the water rinses the airplane off of him, Harry thinks about what Gemma said. The idea of dating still scares the shit out of him. 

÷


	14. Chapter 14

÷ 

Harry spends the next two days losing his determination to find a couch before the first of the year. In the early afternoon on New Year’s Eve, his phone dings with a text from Gemma, and Harry laughs. At least it took her this long to notice that he never answered her question about his plans for the night. As if he wants to tell her of his wild night ahead, at a party where most of the attendees are married couples and they all walk home when they’re tired. 

The color scheme for New Year’s Eve this year is red, green, and white because they have the stuff already after cancelling the Christmas get together due to half of the neighborhood having the flu. Harry laughs when he pulls out the flannel shirt his mom gave him for Christmas, and his favorite green sweater, because his white jeans are right there are on the shelf and he has to at least try them on. He keeps his pink socks, but loses his black briefs, figuring he might as well. 

They’re not as difficult to get on as they were the last time he wore them, though they’re definitely tight enough to keep things in place, but the seam feels rough against his skin, so he digs through his clean clothes, looking for a pair of white briefs, even though he’s almost positive he doesn’t own any. His fingernail snags on something, and he pinches at whatever it is to get it loose, then lifts it out of the drawer. 

It only takes him a few seconds to decide to wear the yellow satin and lace boyshorts. It takes him a full five minutes to peel his white jeans off of his legs and get them on again, but it’s worth it. Now everything is softly _and_ tightly held in place. He forgets he’s wearing them until he packs a clean pair of briefs with his change of clothes and his toothbrush, then he forgets again. 

He’s a little early when he parks in his usual spot beside Louis’ minivan. After a cursory knock, he swings the front door wide open, and catches sight of Louis’ bare ass disappearing into the hallway, as he shouts over his shoulder, “Knock, then wait, Harold!”

“You shouldn’t be naked in the living room!” Harry yells instead of apologizing for barging in. “What were you doing?”

Louis strides out of the hallway with a towel clutched tightly at his waist, not so much as turning his head in Harry’s direction, and walks through to the kitchen. “Not that it’s any of your business—I can be a nudist in my own home if I want to—but my laundry is off the kitchen.” 

The sound of what is probably Louis’ drier opening is followed by virtual silence for a moment or two, then a grunt that makes Harry listen closer. A few seconds later, Louis comes back through the living room, this time in white jeans but nothing else, if Harry’s accidental glance at his open zipper isn’t mistaken. 

Harry stands there, just inside the front door, with his bag in his hand, staring at the dark end of the hallway that leads to bedrooms. Jerkily, he takes a step, but then his body seems to wake up, and he carries his things to the guest room. 

Christmas decorations are still up, so while he waits, Harry examines what looks like a new ornament on the tree in the living room. There are more from the past few years that are virtually the same as the new one, really nothing more than hanging picture frames. They vary in style and size, but the basic idea is the same, and they all have the year prominently displayed with a picture of one of more of Lottie’s children. 

A similar frame on the other side of the tree is hanging too low for Harry to see, so he squats down and lifts it with the tips of his fingers, instantly dropping it and cackling as he falls the last few inches to land on his bum on the floor. 

“You deserve that, if you’re laughing at what I think you’re laughing at,” Louis says, but he still reaches out to help Harry up. “I realized she was going to do it every year, and that I was going to get a new one every year. So I figured why not.”

Once he’s standing again, Harry turns back to look at the tree again. “It’s such a good idea though. Does Lottie hate it?”

“Yeah, she snuck that one onto my tree. It’s supposed to be on hers.”

Harry laughs again and says, “I never know what to do with that one sample school yearbook picture. Maybe I’ll make Gemma a snow globe with my face in it.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. I bet you can special order them to play recordings of your voice or certain songs.” 

“Yeah,” Harry easily agrees even though he has no idea what sorts of personalized snow globes are out there, but he thinks he’d like a pink one with a picture of Dolly Parton in it. And then he thinks Louis would probably love that, making a mental note to look into it for his birthday next year. 

“You’re festive tonight,” Louis says while he rolls up the sleeves of his loose dark red sweater. He looks up and grins, tugging a green and white patterned beanie over his still damp hair and pulling a few strands out. “Nice jeans.”

“’Tis the season to coordinate.” Harry looks at Louis’ hat again and reaches up to touch his own hair. Then he pats his hands around the pockets of his coat, but they’re empty. “Forgot a hat.”

Louis waves him off, disappearing into his bedroom, and returning a moment later with a solid grey knitted hat. “Do you want mine? It matches your sweater.”

Harry shakes his head and takes the grey one. It’s big and a little floppy, and the end of it sags a little, so Harry folds the edges of it back around his face and checks his reflection in the glass of Louis’ front window. The ends of his longer curls flip up around the edges of the hat and he thinks he looks alright. 

Distracted by his own face in the glass, he doesn’t notice Louis standing right behind him until he loops a heavy red scarf around Harry’s neck. He whips around, coming face to face with Louis. “Thanks, Lou. I forgot mine.”

“I figured.” Louis steps back and opens the door, and they make their way up the street to Niall and Zayn’s. 

Zayn and Niall have been perfecting their ball dropping technique for weeks. Louis has been giving him updates and Harry’s actually looking forward to midnight, just so he can see what they’re planning. 

Whatever Harry was expecting from this night, it wasn’t laying in the hammock with Louis to his left and Liam to his right, sandwiched between two thick comforters. At ten to midnight, Niall’s phone beeps, and Liam clambers out of the hammock to go watch them set everything up with the lights. The hammock rocks and Harry rolls towards Louis, wiggling a bit until he’s more on his side than his back, so they’re sort of facing each other.

“It’s cold,” Harry says, exaggeratedly shivering.

Louis scoffs, but softens his words by reaching up and scratching Harry’s scalp through his beanie. “You’re the one who wanted to see what it would be like to sleep out here.” 

“Oh, yeah, um…” Harry cuddles closer to Louis’ warmth.

“Are you and Liam kissing at midnight?” Louis asks and Harry snorts.

“No, why would we?” Harry tries to push himself up so they can go back over to the fire and so he can get another glass of champagne.

Louis lifts one shoulder and says, “I figured you’d plan ahead so, like, I don’t know…”

“I’ll kiss whoever I’m standing next to at midnight.” Harry finally grips the hammock in the right place and catches his feet on the ground, stopping them mid swing, and trying to get to his feet. Once he finds his balance, he turns around to see Louis still laying in between the blankets, frowning up at him. Impatiently, Harry holds his hand out and asks, “Are you coming back over to the fire or not?”

The wrinkle on Louis’ brow relaxes and he lets Harry help him up, draping one of the comforters around both of their shoulders. “Making any resolutions this year, Harold?”

“You asked me that last year, and I told you mine, and then you said yours were secret, so I’m not telling first.”

“Fine,” Louis says, adjusting his hat and pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It’s not really a resolution, but I’m selling my house.”

“No,” Harry gasps and shoves Louis’ shoulder. “You’re not.”

Louis nods and says, “Fizzy wants to buy it. She’s been staying with mom, but she’s back at work and making decent money, just has to save a bit more, probably sometime this summer.”

“Where will you go?” Harry asks in a whisper, stepping closer to study Louis’ face in the firelight.

Everyone around them shouts in unison, “Ten!” and Louis shakes his head.

Over the din of the countdown, Louis says, “What’s yours? Your resolution?” 

“Oh.” Harry looks up at the sliver of moon in the sky, then back down at Louis. “To be happy. To work towards the future that I want.”

They join in counting down for the last three numbers, and when Harry sees Niall and Zayn’s ball hit the driveway, and all of the trees surrounding the house light up almost instantly, he cheers, jumping a little inside their blanket, and knocking into Louis.

“Happy New Year, Lou,” Harry says, watching Louis as he lets his head fall back to take in the lights in the tree limbs. 

Louis drops his chin back down and nods his head to the side, shrugging one shoulder, and moving closer. “Happy New Year, Harold,” Louis says, tipping his face up.

Careful to keep space between their bodies, Harry hunches his shoulders a little and tilts forward, clasping his hands behind his back. It’s Louis who brings their lips together, huffing impatiently as Harry slowly leans in, and pushing off the ground so that they’re the same height when their noses bump. Louis’ beard tickles as he catches Harry’s dry upper lip between his own. 

They almost stick together as Louis settles back onto his heels, the slight wetness where he licked his lips tugging at the skin of Harry’s lip, practically taking it with him, until Harry blinks. And Louis turns to look over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his hand across his lips. 

The neighborhood ringing in the new year comes whooshing back and the blanket’s pulled off of his shoulders and the next thing Harry knows, he’s walking back to Louis’ house. 

Because, despite the champagne, he can’t stop thinking about it and before he can think better of it, Harry says, “I haven’t kissed anyone but Gabe in thirteen years.”

“How’d I measure up?” 

“That’s rude.” Harry follows Louis inside his house. 

“Yeah, well…” Louis sighs and drops down onto the couch. “I know you were with Gabe for a long time. I assumed that you hadn’t kissed anyone else. Didn’t think it was worth mentioning since it was just a stupid New Year’s kiss. Sorry.”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. And it’s not a good habit to start, blurting out shit like that. Gemma says I’ll be fun to watch when I start dating. But like, imagine me dating someone and, you know, doing stuff, and me going ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve only ever had sex with one person.’”

“Oh my god, Harold.”

“See?”

“Jesus Christ. Okay.”

Harry nods and says, “I’m not ready to date anyway, but she’s already made me nervous.” 

“Nothing to be nervous about, Harold. You don’t have to download any apps and you don’t have to date if you don’t want to. It’s your life.”

“Yeah, but like, eventually… I mean, what about you?”

Louis frowns and looks away, rubbing at his eyebrow. “I’ve been on a couple of coffee dates. That’s all. Nothing worth mentioning. Although my last kiss before you tonight was Carl in the coffee shop parking lot when I went to lean in for a hug.”

“Oh, no… Wait. So you didn’t even hang out with these guys after? How boring were they? We have coffee and hang out all the time.”

“They were pretty boring, yeah.” Louis pulls his feet up onto the couch, turning his shoulder into the back cushion, and drapes his arm behind it. “I don’t know. I decided, after Ethan, that like… I have to just put my cards on the table. If they don’t like it, they can leave.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“Just, you know, I’m thirty-five. I’m thinking long term, permanent stuff.”

“I’m extremely out of practice, as in, I’ve never practiced, but that seems a little heavy for a first date.”

“If they don’t like it—”

“They can leave. Got it.” 

“That’s part of why I’m selling my house. Like, it’s convenient with Fizzy, but… I was ready to let it go anyway. Want a place that’s just mine.”

Harry grins and says, “I know what you mean. It’ll be weird though. Won’t it? Not living in this neighborhood?”

“Well, I mean, it’s the first place I’m looking. There’s a four bedroom on the corner three streets up, but I don’t know. Seems big since it’s just me.”

“Yeah,” Harry says losing track of their conversation and nodding off, until Louis is suddenly guiding him to the guest bedroom and helping him with his shoes. 

Flat on his back, dizzy from champagne, Harry realizes he’ll never be able to get his jeans off, plus he’s been tucked all night and needs to be free. 

“Louis? I can’t get my pants off.”

“Hard luck, Harold.”

“Louis, no, for real.”

“For real. Go to sleep.”

“Please, please, Lou, just like… I think if you pull the ankles and I push them down my legs…”

Louis heaves a put upon sigh and appears at the foot of the bed. He picks up Harry’s feet and pulls his pink socks off one at a time, then says, “Do the button and zip and let’s go.”

Fumbling to get his pants undone, Harry listens while Louis counts to three and then shoves the jeans down his legs. Louis gets the ankles most of the way off and Harry kicks himself free a moment later. When he sits up to pull the comforter back, Harry notices his yellow satin and lace boy shorts. His face flames red and is probably still hot and pink when he passes out, drunk and exhausted. 

÷

All of Harry’s classroom decorations came down that last day before break, so when he walks in that first Monday in January, it’s like the final sign that Christmas is over. The kids are all happy to be back, two weeks is just long enough to get bored, so the second semester starts off well. 

A few weeks later, Harry’s busy thinking about his birthday, wondering if it would be weird to throw his own party when he doesn’t even have any place for anyone to sit. He picks up his things from his box in the front office, and carries it with him back to his classroom, but doesn’t get the chance to look through the stack of flyers and notices until his planning period. Even after he does, opening the envelope and scanning over his tax forms from the school district, he still doesn’t process it until that night. They’re out at the bar, giving Niall and Zayn’s house a rest, when Louis mentions doing his taxes, and it hits Harry that he has to do them himself. 

On top of that, Monday is the sort of anniversary that Harry always liked to celebrate as the beginning of his relationship with Gabe, and even though it’s not official or anything, he’s been dreading it because he doesn’t know how he feels about it or how he’ll feel the day of.

Last year was such a disappointment that Harry isn’t sure why he’s bothered about it at all, though it did end up being rather fun once Louis came over, even though he let Harry spend the entire evening with kale in his teeth.

Throughout their marriage, Gabe’s mom did their taxes. A perk of having an accountant for a mother-in-law, but it means that Harry hasn’t done his own taxes in a decade. It’s not a big deal, nor a huge chore, but it’s one more thing that he has to take care of, and it puts him in a shitty mood. Plus, he has no idea whether or not he and Gabe will have to be in contact with each other over this or not, considering that they were married for most of the year. 

While Harry’s been sulking, he’s ignored the conversation going on around him, so when Louis speaks directly to him, Harry has to ask him to repeat himself.

“I said, want another beer?” Louis holds his own empty glass in one hand, tipping it side to side, and looking from Harry’s bottle to his face expectantly. Something about Louis’ relaxed smile irritates him, and Harry has to get out of there. He stands up, shaking his head, leaving his empty beer bottle on the table.

“I’m heading home,” Harry says, trying to keep the crease between his eyebrows from deepening, trying to sound normal. 

Niall asks him to stay for one more drink. Liam offers to play darts with him. And Zayn just says no, but drags that single syllable out for a good fifteen or so seconds. It all makes him feel worse. 

He grabs his coat and pulls it on. “Have a good night, guys.”

Before he can get caught up in goodbyes or anyone can catch on that he’s upset, Harry goes straight for the door, breathing in the cold air outside, and hoping that once he’s home he’ll feel better.

“Harold!” Louis calls across the parking lot and Harry stops, dropping his head forward and closing his eyes. Slowly, he turns around, so that Louis has crossed over to him by the time he’s facing him. “You alright to drive?”

“Yeah. I only had one beer. I’m fine,” Harry assures him, stepping backwards, and jingling his keys. 

“You sure? I mean, not the beer, but like… Are you okay?”

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets, wishing he had some gloves, and looking off to the side because Louis seems so genuinely concerned, it’s maddening. “No, I’m not. I’m in a shitty mood. Stupid divorce stuff with my stupid taxes and I’m just—”

“It’s okay, Harold.”

“No, it’s fucking not, Louis,” Harry snaps, whipping his head around so they’re face to face.

Louis jerks back and says, “Alright. Drive safe.” Lifting a hand, he starts back towards the bar.

“It’s not okay!” Harry yells after him, and he stops, turning around while Harry keeps going. “It sucks! Like, I have to do _everything._ I haven’t done my own taxes since college!”

“So call an accountant.” Louis shrugs and shakes his head. “What’s the big deal?”

It’s not a big deal. That’s the thing. That’s why he wanted to leave and go home and be alone and sad in his bed, because he knows he’s being stupid and overreacting, he could feel it building up. But of course, they can’t just let him go. 

“You’re missing the point!” Harry yells up into the sky, lifting his arms and pulling his coat open. “The point isn’t taxes or accountants. The point is that I was supposed to have a partner in this! My life is nothing like it’s supposed to be!” Finally lowering his voice, Harry says, “I’m _supposed to be_ married. I’m _supposed to be_ buying a house with my husband. I’m _supposed to be_ a dad, Louis! I’m not… I have nothing. Nothing! And you don’t get it. Maybe if you’d been married. Maybe I need some divorced friends.” 

He finally unlocks his car and climbs behind the wheel, looking through the open door at Louis standing there eyes wide and mouth parted. This time he lets the scowl settle onto his face before he turns and drives away.

The rest of the night, he feels like the worst sort of person. It’s cold, colder than it’s been recently, and he can’t get warm, even once he’s home. He tries bundling up in sweats and blankets, but finally ends up taking a bath in water hot enough that whatever parts of him aren’t submerged are sweating. 

On the floor beside the tub, Harry’s phone sits on his pile of dirty clothes, right beside the glass of wine he poured for himself, but has decided he doesn’t want. He folds his arms on the side of the tub and slouches down until he can rest his chin on his hands, and thinks about how to apologize to Louis. 

In the end, he texts him. He apologizes, as sincerely as he can by text message, tells Louis that he _did_ try to take his bad mood home, and ends by asking him not to run out and get married, just so he can get divorced and be Harry’s divorced friend. It’s a poor joke and he knows it, but he doesn’t know what else to say. 

The next morning, he wakes up to a thumbs up emoji from Louis, and he feels horrible. Like, feverish, congested, and sick. Instead of getting up, he just rolls over, and goes back to sleep. 

Around noon, he can’t make himself sleep anymore, so he drags himself out to the kitchen, where he knows that he doesn’t have any kind of cold medicine, but he checks anyway. Then he forces himself to get dressed and drive to the drug store, stocking up on every over-the-counter remedy that he might need as a newly divorced man. It’s possible that he makes some fever related decisions, because once he takes some medicine and lets it kick in, he goes to put away his shopping, and finds an entire bag of fruit-flavored antacid tablets. 

He doesn’t leave his bed all weekend. None of the things he wants to do get done. It doesn’t occur to him to look into his taxes until Sunday night, but by then he’s too tired to think and just stares at the screen of his laptop, not understanding anything. 

Monday morning when his alarm goes off, he wakes up feeling okay. Not great, but well enough that he doesn’t want to call out sick. So he showers and gets dressed, carries his things downstairs to his car, and drives to school. Which is closed. As scheduled. Harry knocks his head against the glass of the driver’s side window and picks up his phone, texting Louis to remind him that they don’t have school, before starting back home. 

÷ 

Harry’s phone dings, and the next time he stops at a light, he checks it. Louis wants to know if Harry drove all the way in before he realized they were off today, and if so, he’s inviting Harry to bring him coffee and breakfast. Harry rolls his eyes even as he switches lanes and pulls into the grocery store parking lot. There’s a coffee shop around the corner, so he runs inside and grabs a few things to make breakfast, then gets their coffee, and drives over to Louis’ house.

With his hands full, he can’t knock on the door, and he doesn’t want to kick it, so he nudges it with his knee over and over again, finally getting frustrated and bumping his forehead against it. “Ouch.”

“Harold,” Louis says, squinting at him in the morning sun, and stepping aside to let him through the door after Harry hands over his coffee. “None of that looks like an Egg McMuffin.”

Ignoring him, Harry walks into the kitchen, setting his coffee and shopping bags on the counter. “You said breakfast. You weren’t specific. And the store was right there, so…” He pulls each item out and lines them all up on the counter. “Plus, you never have eggs.”

“Eggs and toast?”

“Omelets? I brought cheese and, well, I didn’t bring any veggies, but I got bacon.” Harry picks up the package of bacon and waves it around. “Okay?”

“It’s fine, Harold. You don’t actually have to cook me breakfast.” Despite his words, Louis backs into the corner and hops onto the counter. “Sorry you got up and drove to school. I was going to remind you last night, but, um… I was still mad, so…”

“Hey, um…” Harry lays the package of bacon back down and walks over to the corner by the fridge where Louis is sitting. “I know I was an asshole the other night. And I’m really sorry. Like, what a shitty thing to say to you. I don’t… I would never want you to… to be unhappy. Or divorced?” He tilts his head to the side and closes one eye, wanting to close them both because he’s embarrassed about his behavior, but wanting to keep eye contact at the same time so that Louis knows he’s serious. “What I said was mean. You deserve to have good things. A future that’s exactly what you want. Married or single or anything in between. Just—”

“It’s okay, Harry.” 

“It’s not okay!” Standing straight, he takes another step into Louis’ space, and rests his hands on Louis’ knees. “Don’t say it’s okay. You’re like, too forgiving or something. I… You’ve had relationships. Plural. Unlike some other people in this room. And I… I belittled that.” Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ knees, then notices what he’s doing, and takes a quick step back, grabbing the bacon and holding it up. “So, let me make you breakfast as an apology. Okay?”

“Alright. You’re right. I am…” Louis hops down from the counter and picks up his coffee. “I’ve always sort of been the peacemaker.”

“That’s not a bad thing. But like, with me? Don’t do that. I already have… issues.” Harry snorts a little laugh and shrugs. “I mean, apparently, I’ll ignore pretty much anything rather than talk about it. And if you’re constantly telling me everything is fine when it’s not, and I’m always pretending that everything is fine when it’s not, I mean…”

Louis reaches up and tousles Harry’s hair. “It’s fine. It’s okay. Everything’s alright, Harold.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, but he grins and tries to elbow Louis, who’s too fast for him and jumps out of the way. “Go away and let me cook.”

It’s nothing fancy, just eggs and cheese and bacon and toast, but they eat in Louis’ dining room, at his grandmother’s old table, and it makes Harry long for something of his own. A home, maybe. Or a table. He doesn’t know, but he can’t shake the feeling. 

When Louis finishes, he slides his plate over, and sits back, sipping his coffee while Harry eats. “It’s been almost a year since Ethan.”

“Oh,” Harry whispers, looking up, and setting his fork down on his plate. “I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t expect you to.” Louis knocks his fist against the table twice and says, “Just noticed it myself, like, right this second.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, Harry picks up his fork to resume eating, but halfway to his mouth with a forkful of omelet, he stops, and asks, “Do you miss him?”

“No,” Louis answers quickly. “Not really. I mean, I don’t particularly like… I like being in a relationship. Having a boyfriend. You know. I’ve told you… what I want.”

Harry nods and swallows his last bite of egg. “My therapist, well, my old one. I don’t have a new one here. Keep meaning to— Anyway, not the point. My therapist told me to like, write out my future. That writing it down would make it more solid. More like something I’ll follow through with. And I started. Like, paper and pen and everything. But I never finished it.”

“Why?”

“Not sure,” Harry lies, but then he corrects himself, “Well, I mean, I threw it away. But before that, it wasn’t finished. You should do that. Write out your future.”

“Yeah, why not.” Louis stands up and gathers their dirty dishes, carrying them to the kitchen, where he makes Harry watch while he cleans up because he refuses to let Harry help at all. Once the plates are dry and put away, he says, “Be right back.” 

When Louis reappears, he’s holding a spiral notebook and two pens, and he crooks a finger at Harry, who follows him back to the dining room. 

“You have to do it too, since you never finished.” Louis rips some paper out of the notebook and gives Harry a few sheets, then passes him a pen. “Okay, so how does this go?”

“Um… I don’t know, really. I guess… Like, at the bottom of my old one, I wrote ‘babies’ as like, the final goal, but…” Harry taps his paper on the table, straightening the stack, lays it down, and writes ‘adopt’ about midway down the page. He raises his eyebrows and says, “There’s got to be more after that, right?”

They decide not to peek at each other’s lists while they’re writing them, and after a few minutes, Louis suggests that they keep them private so that they don’t feel pressured to include or leave off anything, and Harry agrees quickly. His list is embarrassing just reading over it himself. The last thing he wants is for someone else to see that his life goals read like something he might’ve written in elementary school. 

Sure there are short term goals, like running more often, or visiting the animal shelter with Liam, or buying a couch, or going to grad school. But the big picture stuff… Meet someone (elaborate on this!), fall in love, get married again (but let him propose this time), adopt babies (or older kids! Do more research!), buy a house (not necessarily in that order), travel (make a separate list of places!), live happily ever after. He actually writes that on the bottom line because it all seems like something from a fairy tale anyway, and so far out of reach. 

“Okay, so what do I do with this future plan?” Louis asks, smoothing the folded paper in front of him and looking up at Harry.

“Oh, um… I kept my old one in my wallet.” So that Louis can’t see anything he’s written, Harry picks up his piece of paper and folds it in half. He folds it again and again until it’ll fit in the back of his wallet behind his cash, then he puts his wallet in his pocket and says, “My first future goal thing is to be your best friend, so, like… the position is filled. No more job applicants.”

“You can’t just say you’re someone’s best friend and make it so. You have to like, qualify.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Nothing. You already wash my coffee cup every day, so I guess you’re in.”

Harry beams across the table at him, knowing that both of his dimples are showing, and says, “Thanks, Lou.”

÷

When he first sat down in his mom’s kitchen over the summer and started to write out his future, he was absolutely single minded about it. The only future he could think of was the one he felt like he was losing, and he was never able to add much to the list other than goals that he considered stepping stones on the way to that. Looking over the future he’s written out for himself six months later, he feels a little better. And a little less selfish.

Number one on his list is to balance out his friendships. The next day at school, he makes plans with Liam to go to the animal shelter with him and volunteer.

“It’s actually really close to your apartment, so we can drop your car there, and ride over in mine.” Liam drops his bag into the back seat of his car and says, “You can change if you want, since you’re bound to get dirty.”

Harry frowns down at his clothes—his favorite wide leg black trousers and black button-up shirt—then looks across the roof of their cars. “Yeah, I don’t suppose all of the animals match my clothes.”

“No,” Liam says with a short laugh. “Definitely not.” 

One quick change later, and Harry meets Liam in the parking lot in his favorite grey sweatpants and the black hoodie that Louis loaned him after it snowed last February. 

“Right, so,” Liam says as he climbs out of his car and tugs a beanie over his short hair. “Denise is in charge of the volunteer program. She won’t let you sign up as a dog walker right away. You have to kind of… work your way up.”

“Really? What do I do then?” 

“Oh, um, well, I don’t know if there’re like, formal stages, but we can ask. I told her you were coming with me today and she said that was fine.” 

Liam presses the buzzer and they wait at the door until it swings open and a young woman stands aside to let them in. She smiles warmly at Liam, welcoming him inside, but narrows her eyes at Harry when he follows him through the door, and he suddenly feels like he’s in the middle of an informal trial. 

Harry rolls his shoulders back and stands up straight, regretting his choice of clothing and wishing he’d just left his school clothes on when he clasps his hands behind his back, then immediately lets go and shoves them into the pocket of his hoodie. 

From time to time, while she goes over the list of dogs that Liam’s supposed to walk, she glances at Harry suspiciously, and he wants to defend himself, but he’s not sure what from, so he stays quiet, hoping that he passes whatever test this is.

She leads them down the hall to a room at the end where Harry can hear barking and whining and out of nowhere, a loud wolf-like howl. 

Freezing midstep, Harry asks, “What was that?”

Without moving her head at all, Denise rolls her eyes until they land on Harry, and she says, “Wolf-dog hybrid. Shouldn’t bite with the muzzle. Though… she shouldn’t be able to howl either.” Hurriedly, she unlocks the door, and cracks it open to peek inside, slamming it shut a second later. She throws her back against the door, holding her head in her hands. “No, no, no. She broke through the restraints. Don’t… Don’t look… It’s horrible...”

Harry gasps loudly and holds his hands flat to his chest over his racing heart, regretting every decision he’s ever made that led to this moment, until Denise snorts and drops her hands to her knees, laughter bending her body. Liam shoves her shoulder lightly and says, “You done?”

It takes her a moment to pull herself together, and she allows herself one last loud cackle before she nods, turns to Harry, and says, “She’s a beagle. First on your list today, so I’ll meet you outside with her.” 

She’s clearly an older dog, the brown and black of her fur mottled with white, jowls and ears drooping low, and Harry _loves_ her. “What’s her name?”

“Kate,” Liam answers without looking up, adjusting the leash in his right hand, and slipping the roll of bags into his left coat pocket. “Ready?”

Harry nods and falls into step beside Liam as they walk towards the road. “Kate?”

“Yeah, Kate McKinnon. People never keep the names the shelter gives them, so Denise started naming her favorites after famous lesbians.”

“Seriously?” Harry asks, grinning and pulling the hood of his sweatshirt tight around his face.

Liam shrugs and says, “Yep. Sappho got adopted before Christmas, and the woman who adopted her kept the name.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Tell Denise that and it might make her like you.”

“Maybe. She scares me,” Harry says, shaking his head and extending his hand towards the leash. “Can I?”

After looking back over his shoulder—checking behind them for Denise, Harry’s sure—Liam passes him the leash. Kate’s walk isn’t long, she’s too old to go far, but she seems to love it, sniffing everything as she goes, short stubby legs hurrying along beside them even though they’re not walking fast at all. 

They walk six dogs total before it gets dark and the shelter closes for the evening, and when they bring Kristen Stewart—a beautiful golden cocker spaniel—back to Denise, she doesn’t scowl at Harry. Something is better than nothing and, as soon as he fills out the volunteer application, he wants to go celebrate.

When Liam pulls into the parking lot of Harry’s apartment complex, Harry turns in his seat, smiling excitedly, and says, “Want to come up? I’ve got wine.”

“Did you get some furniture?”

Harry shakes his head and says, “You can have the stool and I can sit on the floor. Or we could sit on my bed!”

“No, I’ve got, um… some things to do at home.”

“Oh, alright,” Harry says, trying not to sound disappointed. It’s not nearly as fun to celebrate alone. He climbs out and waves through the glass. “See you tomorrow!” 

As he climbs the stairs to his apartment, Harry selects the picture he took of Kate the beagle and sends it to Louis with ‘Kate McKinnon’ as the caption. A few minutes later, after Harry’s kicked off his shoes and poured himself a glass of wine, Louis responds that he’s disappointed that Harry would ever compare one of his favorite SNL cast members to an old dog, so Harry has to call to explain. He sets his wine on his nightstand and flops down onto his bed on his stomach, holding the phone to his ear.

Cutting off the first ring, Louis answers, “I’m not speaking to you, Harold.”

“Because of Kate?”

“You don’t get to call her by her first name, heathen.”

Harry snorts and says, “That’s the dog’s name, Lou. I went to the shelter with Liam today.”

“That dog’s name is Kate McKinnon?”

“Yeah,” Harry says with a happy sigh. “I love her. I want her to come live with me.”

“Ahh, well, Harold, I don’t think your apartment complex allows pets.”

“I know.” Harry pouts at his phone, but then he has an idea. And he’s only half-joking when he says, “You could adopt her _for me._ I’d pay for everything: food, bed—”

“Harry.”

“Vet, doggy sweaters—”

_“Harry.”_

“I’d walk her every day. We could—”

“Harry!”

“Yeah?”

“You can’t… You can’t expect me to adopt a dog for you, even if you’re my self-appointed best friend.”

“Oh… Okay.” Harry’s shoulders sag and he rolls over onto his back. “Sorry. I wasn’t… Fuck. Sorry. I was just excited.”

Louis exhales loudly, like he’s been holding his breath, and says, “Understandable.”

To distract himself from his disappointment, Harry tells Louis that Liam wouldn’t come up to his apartment, and rants for a few minutes about his lack of furniture, his promise to himself that he’d at least buy a couch by the end of January, and that the month is getting away from him. They stay on the phone until Harry’s battery gets low. 

÷ 


	15. Chapter 15

÷

It’s a busy week for Harry. He finds an accountant who assures him his taxes will be no problem at all, he spends most of the weekend out looking for a couch, and even drives to Ikea and sits on every display couch, but ultimately decides to give himself the entire month to find something else. He almost doesn’t notice his birthday approaching and he wonders if that’s something that comes with age, if it’s somehow related to his adjustment to the divorce, or if he’s just that forgetful. 

He goes with Liam to the shelter again. Denise doesn’t smile at him, but he swears she’s about to when he gets excited that no one’s adopted Kate and they get to walk her again. 

For the second time, Liam turns down Harry’s offer to continue hanging out, even though he asks him to go to a little bistro instead of coming up to his practically unfurnished apartment. It hurts his feelings despite Liam’s reasonable excuse that he has to go grocery shopping. 

The next friendship on his list he considers a two for one, which is convenient. The baby is due in a few weeks, so Niall and Zayn have both gone into full blown panic mode, childproofing everything in their house to point where there was a small accident with the locking toilet lid. 

Harry goes with both of them to Ikea, folding most of the seats down in his minivan so that they can bring their purchases home. It’s a very different shopping trip from anything that Harry’s accustomed to. Niall and Zayn start bickering before Harry can even park, arguing about which end of the parking lot is better. He ignores them and parks where he wants, a little further out than necessary, so that they have to walk and hopefully can chill out before they get inside the store. It’s an ineffective strategy. 

They have a very specific, detailed list, but every item still gets scrutinized and debated before they either change their minds or add it to the cart. It’s worse in the warehouse because, even though they’ve already argued about the style and finish of the crib that they’re planning to buy, when they start loading it up on the flatbed, Niall mentions the as-is section. 

That turns into a completely different discussion, and Harry refuses to be a spectator, finally shaking his keys in the air and waving his hands to get their attention and let them know that he’ll be elsewhere, so they should tell him when they’re ready. Or when one of them snaps and murders the other one in the middle of Ikea.

When they do call and Harry meets them at the loading area, they take turns apologizing. It turns out that the birth mother went into the hospital earlier that day thinking she was having contractions, and they’d gotten themselves excited only to learn shortly after her first text message that she was only experiencing false labor. 

“You guys should've just told me,” Harry says once they explain. “Gemma had those contractions for like, months with her first and we were all stressed about it.” 

“Thanks, man,” Zayn says, waiting for Harry to close the back of his van. “Sorry again. We’re just… It’s getting close, you know? Scary stuff, babies.”

Niall climbs into the back seat, letting Zayn sit up front, and as soon as Harry starts driving, Niall says, “It really is scary. There are like, all of these books about pregnancy and not nearly as many about babies. Like, basic newborn care. I actually bought one of those dummies books. Babies for Dummies or something like that.”

“I can, um…” Harry sucks his lower lip into his mouth and glances over at Zayn in the passenger seat, then up at Niall’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He clears his throat and says, “I can send you some links. There are a few really great blogs, like gay couples writing about their experiences and stuff.”

“Ooh, really?” Niall pulls himself forward, holding onto the back of Zayn’s seat. “That’s awesome. How’d you find those?” So fast that Harry almost misses it, Zayn reaches back and smacks Niall’s hand. “What the fuck?”

As much as he enjoys witnessing Zayn try to exercise telepathy—the vein in his temple is fun to watch as it throbs in time to the clenching of his jaw—Harry puts them out of their misery. “I used to read them a lot. Like, before um… the divorce. You know?” 

Harry hopes that he’s able to convey something more behind his words and he thinks he did alright when Zayn looks over at him, half of a smile on his face and throbbing temple vein less apparent for the time being, and Niall lays a warm hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes. 

It’s the first time he’s talked about his divorce to them, even in a vague, roundabout way, and it’s actually not horrible. Which is a step up, because the last time he considered telling Niall and Zayn a few months back, just thinking about it made his stomach swirl and he picked a stupid fight with Liam as a distraction. 

“That’s, um… That’s the reason we, um…” Harry checks that they’re both paying attention because he doesn’t want to have to repeat it, in case it’s harder than he expects it to be. “He decided he didn’t want kids. That’s why we, um…”

“Oh, wow, Harry,” Zayn says quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“No, no, don’t… don't feel like you have to say anything. I just wanted you guys to know. I’m, um…” Harry frowns and tilts his head to the side, doing a quick inventory of his feelings. “I’m actually okay with it now. Wasn’t meant to be.” 

He shrugs one shoulder and tightens his hands on the steering wheel. Though he’s definitely a little lonely, he doesn’t miss Gabe. And he knows now that Gabe wouldn’t’ve been a good coparent anyway. His friends have been understanding and wonderful about everything—his initial wariness, his bad moods, his neediness, everything—especially Louis, since he seems to bear the brunt of it. 

There’s a short list of important dates in his head that he marks off as they pass, his birthday is next, then Valentine’s Day—because it’s such a couples only day, Easter—because of his meltdown last year and the fact that he asked for the divorce the next day, Gabe’s birthday in May, and their wedding anniversary in June. 

After that, he’ll consider himself homefree. If he can make it through each of those dates, and can manage to feel okay about them, once they’re over with, it’ll be like crossing some sort of finish line.

If only he knew what was waiting on the other side. 

÷

After the snow and sledding and movie marathon birthday the year before, Harry doesn’t expect—or want—anything for his birthday. He’d be perfectly satisfied to have another movie night with his friends. In fact, he really wanted to have them all over and host his own birthday party, but he still hasn’t found a couch that he likes, and no one wants to sit on the floor, nor do they all five want to cuddle in Harry’s bed. 

So Louis invites them all over to his house. It’s the first official party that Louis is hosting and, though he’s tried to hide it, Harry can tell that he’s nervous. And that makes Harry nervous. 

Louis has kept mum about the whole thing, shaking his head whenever Harry asks any questions at all about his birthday, even the one about what he should wear. Given that the year before, Louis made him change for the snow, Harry figured he’d ask. Louis tells him to wear whatever he wants, but to bring a change of clothes since he’s staying over. 

With strict orders not to arrive at Louis’ house until six o’clock, Harry spends most of his day out of the house, doing one last couch shopping expedition before he gives up completely. He takes his time getting ready, determined to actually show up a few minutes late because Louis was so adamant that he not get there early. A long bath, a shave, and a trim downstairs—even though no one will see it—makes him feel relaxed and ready.

Harry gets dressed, stuffs his sweatpants and hoodie into a bag, and grabs his deodorant, making a mental note to leave it in Louis’ guest bathroom with the toothbrush and shampoo he keeps over there, and to buy more. When he gets in the car, it’s perfect timing. He should pull into Louis’ driveway at exactly five minutes after six. 

The space in Louis’ driveway right next to his minivan is empty, and when he turns to pull in, he slams on the brakes. Then he rolls his eyes and lets his car creep forward until all he can see is the humongous poster of his own face staring back at him, the words ‘HARRY PARKING ONLY’ printed across the top. 

Before he can turn off the ignition, Louis comes bounding down the steps, and throws open Harry’s door. “You’re late! Did something happen?” 

“No, I was… You told me not to be early. Sorry.” Harry grabs the bag with his change of clothes and says, “Hey, can I keep some deodorant here?”

Louis turns to look at him, eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

“What? I thought I’d ask. It’s polite to ask.”

“And I’ve told you that you can keep whatever you want in that bathroom. I don’t use it. You’ve cleaned it more in the past six months than I have in the entire time I’ve lived here.”

“Gross.” Harry makes a disgusted sound as he follows him up the stairs. Louis pushes the door open, ushers him inside, and as soon as he steps through, he jumps back.

Louis’ living room is so full of people that they’re overflowing into the kitchen and they all yell “Surprise!” at the same time. 

Harry clutches his chest, but then lifts his hand to his mouth, pinching and pulling on his lower lip as he turns to face Louis. “But I knew about the party.”

“Ah, but did you know that I was inviting everyone?” Louis points around the room, finally aiming at the kitchen and saying, “That’s my mom, you know.”

“You invited your mom?” Harry mutters, hoping that no one else can hear him, since they all started chatting as soon as they finished scaring the crap out of him. 

“She insisted. I told her about, well… You’ll see.” Louis waves across the house, and when Harry turns, he sees Lottie waving back. “They’re all leaving soon. Just wanted to be here for, well… You’ll see.”

“Stop saying that. You’re scaring me.” 

“I’m scaring me, to be honest. But…” Louis claps his hands and when the noise dies down, he cups them around his mouth and howls like he’s baying at the moon. Before Harry can ask him what the hell he’s doing, an answering howl comes from the back of the house.

“No…” Harry takes a step forward, then whips his head around to look at Louis again. “What?”

“You’ll see.” This time he gestures towards the hallway with both hands and says, “Go on.”

But Harry doesn’t have to go anywhere because a second later, Liam walks out of the hallway with a bright pink leash in his hand and Kate McKinnon on the other end of it.

“Oh my god. What is…” Harry spins around and practically screams at Louis, “Did you get me a dog?” 

Louis’ face falls, and Harry realizes that he might sound and look a little scary, so he smiles big and wide, and Louis’ entire face lights up. A grin spreads across his lips and the corners of his eyes crinkle and Harry swears that just before he looks away, his blue eyes actually sparkle, but it’s probably just a trick of the light. When he turns back, he presses his lips together, but Harry can tell he’s fighting a smile. 

“I did not get you a dog for your birthday, Harold,” Louis says when he finally gets his face under control, and Harry pouts. 

Liam’s probably brought her over as a special favor for Harry’s birthday or something, but at least he gets to spend some time with Kate when she isn’t outside on a walk. He chews on his lower lip, looking around and trying to decide how long he’s supposed to talk to all of the humans in the room when he’d much rather talk to Kate all night. 

Lightly circling his fingers around Harry’s wrist, Louis pulls him back around, and says, “For your birthday, you get a leash and a collar, food and water dishes, a crate with a fluffy bed, a special doggy seatbelt harness, a soft bristle brush, and every other thing on the list Denise emailed me. All of that is for you. I got _me_ a dog.”

“Lou,” Harry whispers. It’s too much. Too much responsibility and too much to ask of Louis, to care for an elderly dog like Kate. But when he opens his mouth to say so, Louis shakes his head and shushes him, pointing down at the floor behind Harry. 

Harry spends the next hour right there on the floor with Kate because that’s where she’s most comfortable. She likes the fire in Louis’ fireplace, so they scoot over there after a while, and Louis checks on them now and then while he takes care of everyone else, passing out drinks and walking people to the door. Because apparently, most of the party guests were only invited over to yell surprise and watch Harry’s reaction when Liam brought out Kate. They all stop to say goodbye to Harry and Kate, petting her head. About half of them pet Harry as well, patting at his messy curls before they go. 

As crowded as it was when he first walked in, the house empties out quickly, until it’s just the guys left. 

All night he’s been trying to figure out how to tell Louis that he can’t keep Kate, and that has his stomach churning, so the less he has to talk, the better. Eventually, Liam, Niall and Zayn leave as well, and Harry and Kate are left alone with Louis.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, voice uneven. He checks that Kate is sleeping soundly and carefully lifts her head off of his thigh, then crawls the few feet to the couch and climbs up next to Louis. “You can’t keep her.”

“And why not?” 

“It’s too much. You can’t…” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper in case Kate hears him. “You can’t give me a dog.”

“Harold,” Louis says, sighing as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the couch. “I didn’t give you a dog. I told you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Nope.” Louis stands up abruptly and says, “Your gifts are in the dining room, so…” He tips his head in that direction as if he expects Harry to go, so he does, sitting down at the table to look through his gifts. 

Everything that Louis listed earlier is there, and more. All sorts of things, from little pink sweaters to a hand written gift certificate for one hundred dollars to the vet of Harry’s choice. That one’s from Liam and for some reason it brings tears to his eyes. His friends are all so lovely, and Louis is the worst of them, adopting Kate McKinnon for Harry and doing all of this for her. There’s a small wrapped package in the middle of the table and Harry clears space in front of him to open it.

“That’s actually the only thing I got you. Everyone else brought all of this stuff. I mean, I bought her food and—” Louis huffs a breath through his nose and sits down across from Harry, nudging the package closer. “Open it.”

He pulls back the tissue paper inside to find a bright pink, bone shaped, rhinestone studded dog tag that says Kate McKinnon in large, loopy script on the front. He holds it up by the clip that’s supposed to attach to her collar and it spins in the air, reflecting the light, until Harry turns his palm so that it lays flat, then flips it over to look at the back where it says Tomlinson across the top, with two phone numbers underneath.

“I put your number too. Mine’s first, obviously, but I figured, you know, if she’s lost or something… If you want, I can change it.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m…” Harry smiles through watering eyes, worried that he’s upsetting Louis, and trying to hold back his tears. “I’m like her emergency contact.”

“Yeah, I guess you are.” Louis looks up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together, and Harry just watches him for a while. 

Of all the people he’s met in his life, not counting his mom or sister, Louis is the best one. The most generous. The kindest. The most considerate. Selfless. Sweet. And maybe not _the_ funniest, but he’s up there. He’s just wonderful and when he chuckles quietly and levels his gaze at Harry, he can’t help but think that it’s only fair, really, that a person as lovely as Louis is on the inside should be so beautiful on the outside too.

“Thank you,” Harry says and lifts Kate’s tag to let it spin again. 

“Don’t thank me yet. You have to wake her up to take her out now and you can take her for her morning walk.”

“I don’t mind, Lou.” Harry sits forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’ll walk her in the evenings too. Like, I can come by after school every day.”

“Harold.” Louis looks up at him through his lashes and blinks once slowly. “Stop trying to steal my dog.”

“I’m not!” Harry’s laugh sputters out and it takes him a second to reel it in. “I’m not. Really. I just want to help, and like, I don’t have… It’s not like I’m rushing home every day, okay? And I won’t come if you don’t want me to, but I do… I like walking her.”

Louis bites his lower lip and nods. “Alright. Start now? After I get this tag on her collar. Then you can walk her whenever you want.”

“Yeah, okay. That howling thing you did earlier, is that like, how you and Kate communicate?”

“Yep. See?” Louis tilts his head back and howls, drawing it out, and adding a few shorter howls at the end, which Kate takes up as soon as he drops off. 

She shuffles into the dining room, dragging her leash behind her because Harry never took it off of her collar, bypasses Louis and goes straight for Harry, looking up at him with her big brown eyes. He reaches down and scratches around her collar, unfastening it, and handing it to Louis. “Ms. McKinnon, how are you? Feeling rested after your nap?” 

While Louis fixes her collar, Harry picks Kate up and holds her in his lap, dressing her in one of her warmer sweaters. But when he comes around the table and puts her collar back on, and Harry stands up to take her outside, Louis walks with them, giving the excuse that he’s too tired and needs some brisk February air to wake him up. As long as they all three know he’s lying, Harry’s willing to pretend. 

Kate McKinnon has no interest in the freezing cold February weather, so she takes care of business quickly and hurries back to Louis’ front steps, turning her head and looking at Harry as if to tell him to move faster. A few seconds later, they’re inside Louis’ warm house, and he’s leading Harry and Kate back to the guest room where her crate is.

“She likes it. It’s like a dog house, I guess. When I vacuumed earlier, she came in here and hid in her little room. Crate. Whatever.” Louis opens the door wide, but Kate stays where she is, sitting on the floor beside Harry’s feet. He reaches down and unhooks her leash, but she doesn’t move. Louis yawns, then says, “She can sleep with you, if you want. I don’t care. I’m pretty sure she’ll end up in my bed most nights.”

“Okay.” Harry squats down to pick her up, and carries her over to put her on the bed. He watches her walk around in circles on the mattress, finally settling right in the middle, so he’s definitely going to have to move her. Then he turns back to Louis, standing in the doorway, steps completely into his personal space, and wraps his arms around him, whispering, “Thanks, Lou.”

For a moment, Louis is quiet, and Harry can feel his heart beating steadily, hypnotizing him, but then Louis whispers back, “Happy birthday, Harry.” 

÷

Despite his initial Sunday plans to spend the afternoon at Ikea deciding on and purchasing a couch, Harry stays at Louis’ house all weekend. 

Kate McKinnon decides that four o’clock in the morning is a good time to change her sleeping position, apparently unsatisfied with the entire right side of the bed and Harry’s chest as a resting place, she lets him know by stepping on him. Both of her front paws on his stomach start to pull him from a deep sleep, but one of her rear paws on his balls wakes him instantly. 

His knees jerk up of their own accord, knocking Kate forward. Her chest hits Harry square in the face so hard that it busts his lower lip, and the taste of beagle hair mingles with his own blood. The loud, involuntary grunt that first escapes Harry transitions into a muffled groan when she makes contact, and Kate’s yelp is still ringing in his ears as he rolls sideways, taking her with him. She slides off of Harry onto the bed.

The bedroom door flies open before Harry can untangle his arms from the blankets, the light from the hallway spills into the room, temporarily blinding him, and Louis yells, voice scratchy and rough with sleep, “What’s it? What’s going on?”

Finally, Harry frees his upper body from the comforter and reaches one arm out to hold Kate while the other clutches at his stomach. All he can do is whimper.

“Harry?” Louis asks, and he blocks the light from the doorway as he steps closer to the bed. 

“I’m okay,” Harry croaks, and he knows he doesn’t sound like it. “Make sure she’s not hurt.”

The bright, overhead light floods the room and Harry cracks his eyes open to watch Louis check her over. Slowly, he runs the palm of his hand over the top of her head, down her back, and then he scratches under her chin, smoothing the fur over her chest. “Seems fine, Harold. She’s… Yep, she’s asleep.”

Harry whines and turns his face into the pillow, still feeling nauseated as he mumbles, “Stepped on my balls.” 

“Really? I mean, shit, man.” Louis hisses through his teeth and says, “Sorry.”

Cracking one eye open, Harry takes in the picture in front of him. The right side of the bed is now completely empty. Kate finished her migration onto Harry’s side, leaving him with the small sliver of mattress he’s laying on now. He releases Kate from his hold and feels behind him, finding only a few centimeters of space between his back and the edge of the bed. 

Carefully rolling over, Harry stretches his legs out straight, then forces himself up and out of bed so that he can stumble around and climb in on the other side. When he passes between Louis and the bed, he lifts one hand up to cradle Louis’ cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb under his eye. 

“Thanks for checking on her,” Harry whispers, dropping his hand from Louis’ face and reaching over his shoulder for the switch on the wall. 

With the overhead light off, Harry can still easily see Kate McKinnon curled up on the far side of the bed, and she seems fine, snuffling every time she exhales, so he cautiously pulls back the covers and tries to make himself comfortable on his side, facing away from her just in case she starts kicking or something. 

He licks his lips and tastes blood again. Blinking to focus his vision, Harry tilts his head slightly so that Louis is centered in his line of sight. 

Silhouetted by the warm light from the hall, his sleep messy hair only sticks out from one side of his head, and as if he can tell what Harry’s looking at, he combs his fingers through it, shifting his body sideways. He lowers his hand to rest on his stomach, pulling Harry’s eye there, drawing attention to his bare torso. 

When Harry blinks again, he lets his gaze fall back on Louis’ hand, watching as he drums his fingers against his skin and scratches at the line of hair beneath his belly button. He slides his thumb under the low-hanging waistband of his sweatpants, and tugs them up a little. Harry closes his eyes, and doesn’t open them again until Kate licks his ear at seven.

He walks her then, and every other time that she asks to go outside by silently standing at the front door. 

He makes himself leave after Louis feeds him for his fourth meal in a row. Louis picks Kate up and follows Harry outside when he carries his bag out to his van, and he stands there in the driveway holding her paw, and waving it at Harry while he drives away. 

÷


	16. Chapter 16

÷

Mid-February, Harry goes out with the purpose of buying a couch. The store where he bought the heavy lowboy dresser is the first stop. 

It’s always packed full of old books, lamps, tables and cabinets, and Sunday afternoons are the best time to visit because all of the new things the owner has found at estate sales and yard sales that weekend. The bell jangles over his head when he walks through the door, hooking his sunglasses on the breast pocket of his coat, and Harry stops momentarily before hurrying across the shop, weaving through the narrow paths to the back door, where a stunning, cornflower blue, damask patterned, burnout velvet sofa is being carried inside. 

“Oh…” Harry holds his hand to his mouth and steps back out of the way as the two men bring it in and set it down. He looks from one man to the next, but doesn’t recognize either of them, so he introduces himself, shaking their hands, and asks, “Do you know how much they want for it?”

“Nope, but we’ve got to get the other one off the truck. Not sure where he wants it. Or where it’ll fit.” 

“Other one?” Harry asks, spinning around to look behind him for the owner of the shop. When he turns back, he finds him just inside the back door. 

“You like the sofa? The second is about the same. Came from a hotel that was redecorating.” He scratches the back of his neck while he looks around the room for a moment, then he says to Harry, “I don’t have room for them. Just couldn’t pass them up. I’ll sell you one for two hundred or both for three.”

“Are you serious?” Harry asks, already pulling his phone and wallet from his pockets. The cash his mom gave him for his birthday and Christmas is stuffed into the back of his wallet with his list of future goals, so when the man nods, Harry quickly counts it to be sure. He says, “I want them.” Then he calls Louis.

Harry walks to the other side of the store while the phone rings and when it goes to voicemail, he hangs up. It won’t be impossible to get them home in his minivan, he’d have to take one and come back for the other, but there’s no way he can move them on his own. His phone vibrates in his hand and Harry answers immediately.

“Louis?”

“Harold.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What is it?”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth and says, “I found sofas.”

“Sofas? As in couches? As in more than one?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you need help deciding? Send me pics.”

“No, they’re the same. I want to buy both. And I need help moving them. Can you?”

Louis heaves an exaggerated sigh, then chuckles and says, “Where are you?”

While Harry waits for Louis, he drives around back and they take the second blue sofa from the truck and put it in his van. About twenty minutes later, Louis pulls into the parking lot, and Harry runs over to meet him. 

“Hey!” Harry throws his arms around Louis, then let’s go and takes a step back. “Sorry. I’m just excited.”

“You can hug me, Harold. Sofas are a big deal, but also, you don’t have to have a reason, you know?” Louis looks down and kicks the toe of his shoe against the side of Harry’s foot. “It’s supposed to rain and it’s so fucking cold it’ll probably freeze, so let’s go.” 

They have to get the other couch into Louis’ minivan by themselves, but it’s not nearly as heavy as the lowboy dresser, so Harry feels certain that they’ll have no trouble moving them both. The stairs won’t be fun, but they’ll survive. 

By the time they get both couches into Harry’s apartment, they’ve already taken off their coats and sweaters and are hot and sweaty enough for Harry to pull off his t-shirt and step out onto the balcony.

“Lou!” Harry calls through the open sliding glass door. “Come out here.”

A muffled grunt comes from behind him, and when Harry turns around, Louis is pushing himself up from the sofa. “What?” he asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and joining Harry on the balcony. “Shit, is it raining?”

“No, it’s snow.” Harry reaches his hand out over the railing, past the roof overhang, and tries to catch a few flakes. 

“Wasn’t supposed to snow.” 

Harry shrugs and turns to the side, leaning his hip against the railing, and waiting for Louis to look at him. “You should go, unless you want to get stuck here.”

“Yeah.” Louis shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and says, “I need to walk Kate.” 

“Shit, yeah. I should come—”

“No, stay here. You don’t have to walk her every single day, Harold.”

Harry scowls at him and pouts for good measure. “I promised.” 

“Not today,” Louis says firmly, walking back inside while waving over his shoulder. “Come on.”

The entire living room has been empty for so long that it looks strange with furniture in it. Harry walks along behind one sofa, trailing his fingers over the upholstery, then circles around the other one and back to stand beside Louis. 

“Two couches.” Louis shakes his head and looks from Harry to the couches and back again. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

Harry hums and frowns, reaching for the shirt that he tossed onto the arm of one sofa. “I guess not, no.”

“It’s not a bad thing, Harold.” 

Louis grabs his coat on his way to the door and Harry trails behind him, pulling his shirt over his head. “Yeah, maybe,” Harry says. 

He opens the door for Louis and walks him to the stairs, waving over the railing on the way back to his apartment. 

÷

Valentine’s Day arrives on a rainy, cold, miserable Friday. 

After school, Harry gathers his things, and walks to Liam’s classroom. They haven’t been talking or hanging out as often, and Harry wants to know if he’s overstepped or done something to upset Liam. Maybe it isn’t the best way to approach him, but Harry forgoes knocking, opens the door, and walks right in. 

“Harold,” Louis says from his perch on the edge of Liam’s desk. 

It throws him for a second, but then he turns and sees Liam on the other side of the room, hanging a new poster beside the window. “Hey, Lou, um… Can you give me a minute alone with Liam?” Louis looks surprised for a second, but hops off of the desk and leaves without another word. 

“Harry, listen, I think I know what this is about…” Liam pushes the bottom corners of his poster against the wall and steps back, then crosses the room and sits down at the student desk closest to Harry, gesturing for him to sit as well, so he does. After clearing his throat and knocking his knuckles against the desk until Harry’s ready to grab his hand to stop him, Liam says, “I really value our friendship. And our working relationship. So I think it’s best if we—”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Harry laughs and drops his head down onto the desk. It sounds so silly and he wishes Liam would just tell him what he’s done wrong so he can fix it. 

Carefully, Liam says, “No… No. I… I’m trying to sort of let you down easy?”

“Is this about Denise? Does she not want me?” Harry attempts to stand, but catches his thigh under the desk, bumping it into the desk in front. “I just talked to her yesterday. What’d she say to you?”

“Denise?” Liam asks, standing up and fixing the desks. “I saw her Wednesday. This isn’t about her… I just… I don’t want… You’re a great guy, but…”

It clicks then. Harry thinks back over the past few weeks, walking beside Liam as they volunteer together, staying close because of the cold weather, the invitations up to his apartment… All of Harry’s efforts at improving their friendship have been interpreted as flirting. His face heats when he thinks about what Liam presumed and he hopes Liam finds it funny once he explains.

“Liam. I’m not… I haven’t been trying to date you.”

“You haven’t?”

“Nope.” Harry shakes his head, laughs quietly and says, “I’ve never actually done that. Dated.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I was just trying to spend more time with you. I’ve been doing it with all of you guys. Like, just hanging out more one on one with my friends.” Harry grabs the closest desk and needlessly adjusts it in line with the others. “Sorry if I—”

“No, Harry. I’m sorry. I, well… I assumed. Which was pretty stupid of me.” 

Liam holds his arms open and Harry leans across the desk between them to hug him, feeling much better about things with Liam, but still a little confused overall.

While Liam gets his things together, Harry goes looking for Louis, but his classroom is dark and locked, so he waits for Liam and they walk outside together. Louis’ van is gone as well, and Harry deflates a little. 

The thing with Liam sits oddly with him. He’s ready to go home and put on some comfy clothes and zone out with a movie on his laptop. It’s hard to admit to himself that he had higher hopes for the day, but he should’ve expected to have a lonely Valentine’s Day. 

The rain picks up on his drive home, pushing Harry’s mood further into irredeemable territory, and then he slips a little on the way up the stairs to his apartment, cursing when he drops his keys and has to climb back down to get them. Once he’s inside his apartment, he decides he’s not leaving until Monday morning. 

After debating over what to drink, he ultimately decides on vodka with sparkling water and an orange slice, because he thinks of it as the least romantic alcoholic beverage in his kitchen. Wine is for dates, champagne is for celebrations, and the last time he went out to buy beer, he picked up a rosé cider instead. The liquor hits a little harder and a little faster than he’s used to and by the time Harry steps out of his bath, he’s got a bit of a buzz going on. 

While he’s drying off, his phone rings, and he flips it over on his bed to check it while he pulls up his sweatpants. It’s Louis, probably being nosy and calling to find out what Harry wanted to talk to Liam about.

“Hello,” Harry answers, continuing the ‘o’ sound until his voice cracks and he giggles, dropping down onto the bed.

“Have you heard from Niall?”

“Hmm? Not since school. Why?”

“Shit. Okay.” Louis takes a breath and starts talking even faster than usual. “Earlier he asked if I could drive Zayn home after school because he had an errand to run. I assumed it was a Valentine’s thing. Apparently, he dropped his phone in the parking lot, and I picked it up, but now we can't get in touch with him, and the baby’s coming.”

Rather than any words, Harry makes a sort of confused grunt and stands up.

“Zayn doesn’t know where he is. He’s on the way to the hospital and I’m trying to find Niall. You haven’t seen him?”

“No, but like… Where could he be? I’ll drive over and help you…” Harry sits back down heavily. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Harry whines, “I’ve had vodka.”

“How much? It’s not even seven.”

Loudly, Harry blows out a breath and falls backwards to look up at the ceiling. “Enough that I shouldn’t drive.” 

“I’ll pick you up. Be ready when I get there.” Louis hangs up and Harry holds his phone over his face, frowning up at it, but then what’s actually happening breaks through the thin layer of alcohol, and Harry hops up off of the bed. He shoves his feet into his sneakers and pulls his coat on over his hoodie, then dumps the rest of his cocktail into the sink, chugs some water, and starts pacing. A few minutes later he decides to pace outside, since the cold might help sober him up. 

Louis pulls up, and as soon as Harry buckles his seatbelt, Louis hands him his travel mug and says, “Drink this.” Harry whispers his thanks and sips the coffee, halfway listening to Louis rambling about all of the places he wants to check for Niall. He turns to face Louis when he hears him say they should split up.

“Split up?” Harry rubs at the crease between his eyebrows, but as soon as he drops his hand, it comes right back. He thinks about Liam earlier and mutters under his breath, “Everyone wants to break up with me today.”

“Huh?” Louis looks confused, but Harry ignores him and hopes he’ll assume it’s the vodka talking. “Yeah. I’ll leave you at Zayn and Niall’s with his phone because he’s more likely to come back home, right?” Louis glances over looking so worried that Harry’s heart hurts for him and, of course, he agrees. They stop at Louis’ house to get Kate since they don’t know how long it’ll take to find Niall, and Harry will feel better if he’s not completely alone while he waits. 

To pass the time, Harry tries to teach Kate to shake hands, but she’s uninterested unless he’s constantly feeding her little pieces of cheese. About an hour after Louis takes off, Niall pulls into the driveway and Harry runs towards his car, waving his phone at him. 

“Shit, I thought I’d lost it,” Niall says as soon as he climbs out of the car. “What… Why are you and Kate here?”

Harry blurts out, “The baby’s coming!” And when Niall stops walking and stares at him across the driveway, he says, “Zayn’s at the hospital. Lou’s out looking for you. Where were you?”

“Surprise for Z. Valentine’s, I…” Niall gestures vaguely behind him.

“Never mind, just go!” Harry tosses Niall’s phone to him and pulls his own from his coat pocket, texting Louis to come home, then letting Zayn know that Niall’s on his way. 

Harry walks Kate McKinnon back to Louis’ house and they wait on the front steps until Louis gets back. As soon as he parks his van, he jumps out, shouting, “What happened?” 

While Harry fills him in, Louis lets them into the house, and he and Kate follow him to the couch. They watch the news, which is depressing, so they watch the Weather Channel, which is repetitive enough that Harry dozes off despite the coffee, and wakes up to Louis’ phone ringing obnoxiously. 

It takes a second for him to orient himself, and he’s lying down on the couch with his head in Louis’ lap again, but thankfully without the puddle of drool this time. Louis’ phone is in the pocket under Harry’s ear, which is why it seems so loud, so he sits up and reaches for the edge of the phone that’s sticking out of Louis’ pocket.

Since it’s Zayn calling, Harry answers it, keeping his voice quiet so Louis doesn’t wake up. “Hello?”

“Louis— Harry?”

“Yeah, sorry. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh, okay, well, um…”

“How’s the baby? Did you name her yet?”

“She’s not here yet. I just stepped out to call Louis because in all of the chaos earlier, we left everything at the house. The car seat’s in the living room and there’s a bag—”

“Do you want us to bring it up now?”

“No. Yes. No? I don’t know, Harry. Honestly, I feel like I’m losing it here. We’re going to have a baby.”

“Okay, take a breath.” Harry waits for Zayn to follow instructions, then tells him to take another, deeper breath. “I’ll wake Louis up, we’ll get everything from your house, and bring it all to you.”

“Yes. Good. Excellent.” Zayn laughs a little hysterically. 

“You’re going to be great dads, Z.” It’s true. As much as he wants one of his own, he can’t wait to watch them with their baby.

Zayn quietly says, “Thanks, Harry.”

“Of course, man. Anything for you guys.” 

Louis is still asleep, head tipped against the back of the couch, so Harry lays his phone on the side table and runs his fingers through Louis’ hair, combing it back off his face. “Lou? Wake up.” He pushes his head against Harry’s hand and hums, so Harry scratches lightly at his scalp until his eyes slowly blink open. 

“Hey,” Louis says, voice raspy and low. 

“Hey, Zayn called.” At that, Louis sits up and starts to stand, but Harry’s hand’s still in his hair, so he tugs it gently and says, “No. Sit.” 

As soon as Harry tells him what’s been happening, Louis goes to the kitchen and comes back with two bananas, one of which Harry eats while he takes Kate outside. It’s just barely eleven o’clock at night, so Harry feels disoriented from his slight buzz earlier in the evening and his nap, and the cold air helps clear his head. 

Since Kate is ready for bed, Harry leads her to her crate and sneaks her another piece of cheese after he latches the door. Stretching his arms overhead, he starts back down the hall, but turns around when he hears a door open behind him. 

“She asleep?” Louis asks, and Harry nods.

“Alright. Time to go.” Louis reaches for Harry’s shoulders, slowly spins him around, and guides him down the hallway. They pick up everything from Zayn and Niall’s house, and Louis takes them through the drive through of the nearest Starbucks. 

Harry doesn’t realize their destination is Gabe’s old hospital until Louis takes the exit off the interstate, and when it does register, it crosses his mind that he’s never actually been inside before. 

They park and while Harry balances the tray of coffees in one hand and hooks his other arm through the handle of the empty car seat, Louis carries both of the bags that they were told to bring. The labor and delivery section of the hospital is on the sixth floor on the opposite side of the building, so it takes them a little while to get there, and when they do, a lovely nurse goes to get Zayn for them.

“Thanks so much, you guys. Oh, coffee, yes, I love you, Harry.” 

“Is she here?” Harry asks quietly, and Zayn nods.

“She’s just arrived. The mother is saying goodbye now.” 

Louis coos and Harry turns to smile at him.

In a few minutes, a nurse comes out and tells them the recovery room is ready, so they haul everything in there, and Niall brings the baby. 

It’s hard for Harry to contain himself, but he manages, letting Zayn hold her, and waiting patiently while they get settled in the rocking chair by the bed. The nurse helps them get started with the bottle, then leaves them to it. 

“She’s beautiful,” Harry whispers, reaching out to touch her tiny head, but jerking back before he does. He grabs for the hand sanitizer on the table and passes it around, then reaches out again, lightly caressing the soft dark hair on her head. “Are you going to tell us her name?”

“Sara. This is Sara Horan-Malik. We don’t have a middle name yet. Wanted to meet her first.”

“Sara,” Harry says, turning to try to catch Louis’ eye, but he’s right there looking back, and an uncontrollable smile spreads across Harry’s face. “She’s amazing.”

While they watch Niall feed her, Zayn curls up on the hospital bed, and falls fast asleep. Niall explains that they’ve decided to do shifts at first so that they at least get a little sleep, but after Niall starts nodding off, Louis takes the baby from him and Harry helps him up and into the narrow bed beside Zayn. He turns off all of the lights and settles onto the small chair by the window, watching Louis rock back and forth with the baby. 

The blinds on the window keep the room fairly dark, but the lights in the parking lot shine bright enough that lines of blue-white fall across Harry’s shoulder, and he follows them with his eyes as they stretch across the floor to illuminate Louis’ face.

He’s leaned the seat back as far as it will go, one foot tucked under his leg, the other pushing against the floor, keeping the chair in motion while Sara rests against his chest. Harry doesn’t know how long he’s been staring when Louis mumbles, “I can feel you watching me, Harold.”

“Yeah, well…” It’s all Harry can think of to say. Of course he’s watching. He can’t think of a single thing he’d rather do, except… “Can I hold her?”

Louis peeks at him from one eye and says, “Here. Come sit.” He scoots as far over as he can in the rocker and pats the cushion next to him. There’s barely enough room for half of Harry, but he turns sideways so that he can fit, sliding his right arm behind Louis’ head and sinking into the space beside him. 

It takes a moment for them to get comfortable, but once Harry decides that there’s no such thing as personal space when there are babies involved, it’s much easier. He throws his legs over Louis’ and they cradle Sara in the dip between their chests, while Louis rocks them. 

Before the soothing motion lulls Harry to sleep, he stretches his left arm across Sara’s back and tangles his fingers in the fabric of Louis’ shirt, holding tightly to them both. 

÷

Before the sun comes up, Louis drives him home, then comes upstairs to rest for a few hours at Harry’s insistence. The sofas are comfortable enough that Harry drops onto the opposite one and wakes up around seven. Since Louis stayed up until Zayn sent them on their way, Harry lets him sleep, quietly making coffee and taking it out onto the balcony. 

The sun is out, shining bright in the clear blue, cloudless sky, and Harry wishes he thought to grab his sunglasses before he came outside, but he’s unwilling to go back in and look for them at the moment. Confusion creases his brow, but he sits down and sips his coffee, hoping that things will become clearer. 

During that in-between state, not actually awake but not asleep, sitting in the rocking chair, Harry shifted his position slightly, seeking to burrow into the comfortable warmth beside him. His eyes fluttered open, eyelashes brushing the skin of Louis’ neck, and he inhaled. The faded scent of Louis’ cologne mixed with his soap and sweat and the smell of newborn baby filled his lungs, not quite covering the unmistakable sterile odor of the hospital. 

Without thinking, he licked his lips and tipped his chin and, had Zayn not spoken Louis’ name that very second, Harry would’ve pressed a kiss to the scruffy underside of Louis’ jaw. Instead, pretending that he was still asleep for another moment, he nuzzled at that same spot with the tip of his nose. Which, now that he thinks about it, wasn’t much better.

Other than his ex-husband, he’s never wanted to touch someone in such an intimate manner, and even now that he’s home and awake and halfway through a cup of coffee, he’s still puzzled by it. That summer before he met Gabe is his only other reference, but he never felt a pull to be close to someone the way he did with Louis earlier that morning. 

If he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander, the urge is still there. And if he didn’t think it would have repercussions that would affect virtually every aspect of his life, he’d go back inside and cuddle up beside Louis on the couch, nudge his nose along his hairline, and kiss his neck the way he almost did.

Roughly, Harry shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it before it leads to something else that he’s not prepared to consider. His coffee's gone cold, so he swallows it all in one gulp, and stands up, bracing his other hand on the balcony railing, tightening his grip until it hurts. 

The door behind him slides open and Harry practically leaps to attention, spinning around so fast his coffee would’ve gone everywhere if he hadn’t just emptied it. Clearly not fully awake yet, Louis yawns, rubbing his eyes, and trips over the threshold, stumbling forward into Harry, who manages to stop them both from falling. 

“Sorry,” Louis mumbles into the hoodie covering Harry’s chest before righting himself and taking a step back. He yawns again, lifting his arms over his head, lengthening his body, and tilting his head back as he pushes up onto his toes. The hem of his shirt rises with him, the waistband of his sweatpants slips down, and all of the strange and baffling thoughts Harry was so concerned with a moment before are replaced by an entirely different set. 

Whipping his head to the side, Harry stares at the cobweb covered light fixture on the wall and stands stock still. Louis clears his throat, and Harry looks back at him. Unbidden, his eyes glide over Louis’ body, so he hurries inside his apartment before Louis can finish saying, “Coffee?”

Sexual desire is something Harry has more experience with, though it hasn’t taken him by surprise like that before. He never actually wanted anyone else while he was married, and he isn’t sure what to do or what it means because Louis is the best friend he’s ever had and there’s no way he’s willing to risk that for short term physical gratification. 

He makes Louis a cup of coffee, handing it over without looking at him, afraid that every thought passing through his mind is plainly visible on his face. Anxious and a little nauseated, Harry hurriedly makes breakfast, shooing Louis out the front door as soon as he finishes eating. 

With any luck, Louis won’t notice the blatant lie he told to get him to leave. He’s not positive that termite inspections are a thing in his apartment complex and he’s pretty sure that, if they are, they don’t require occupants to vacate the premises. But he needs to be alone and he needs to think and he needs to get a grip, none of which he can do with Louis sitting at his breakfast bar.

Once Louis is gone, he finds it a little easier to think, but not much. 

He spends a couple of hours of scrubbing every surface of his apartment, until sweat’s literally dripping off of him. Distraction isn’t working, since he’s still thinking about it. 

What _it_ is, he doesn’t know. He’s definitely attracted to Louis, which feels bizarre since they’ve known each other for going on two years now, and he doesn’t understand how he never noticed before how gorgeous Louis is. 

It seems impossible.

That whole Saturday, Harry stays home, hiding out in his apartment, trying not to think about Louis and failing miserably. It’s horrible. So on Sunday, he stays home again, but this time he calls his sister.

As soon as she answers, Harry talks over her. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and he can hear her moving around as if she’s about to come and rescue him like a superhero.

“Um…”

Gemma whispers, “If you’re being kidnapped, say pizza.”

“Gemma, oh my god. No, I’m not being kidnapped. I…” Harry sighs and lays back on the couch, resting his hand on his stomach. “I think I have feelings for Louis.”

“Ooh, really? I need to come visit so I can meet him.”

“Is that… Is that all you have to say? I’ve only been divorced for like, three months.”

“Would you rather me say something like that? Is that why you called?”

“No, no, it’s not… I… He’s my friend, Gemma. Like, my best friend. And now I keep thinking about kissing him and stuff, but I can’t. It’s weird. I practically threw him out yesterday morning.”

“He stayed over?” 

“Sort of. We were at the hospital Friday night with our friends who’ve adopted a baby. So he slept on the couch for a few hours before he went home.”

“Oh, okay, I thought you were about to tell me you guys had some kind of friends with benefits thing going on.”

Harry scoffs. “No. Definitely not.”

“People do it all the time, Harry. It’s not an awful thing or whatever you’re thinking.”

“No, I know. I didn’t…. That’s not what I meant. I just… I like, woke up yesterday feeling… like this. And I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t even look at him ’cause I was afraid he’d know.” Harry sucks in a harsh breath and says, “We work together.”

“Well, yeah. And you just said you’re friends, so… either way, you’re going to have to spend time together.”

“What do I do?”

“I think you’re putting way too much importance on this. Like, sure, you think he’s cute—”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Settle down there, Harry. So you’re attracted to him. He’s gorgeous. You have a little crush on your friend. It’s not a big deal unless you do something about it, and if you don’t even know if you have genuine feelings for him, you probably shouldn’t pursue anything unless you want to like, screw up the friendship.”

“But what if he knows?”

“Don’t be weird around him and he won’t notice.”

“Okay, but what do I do? How do I act normal?”

“First of all, relax. You’ll probably be weird at first, but it’s you, and you’re always at least a little weird, so it’ll be fine. Then just wait it out. If you just have a crush, it’ll fade.”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

“That’s a different conversation, bub. You let me know though.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“Hey, so, are you coming for Thomas’ birthday?”

“I don’t know. I want to, but it’s right after testing and right before the last week of school.”

“Yeah, but it’s a three day weekend. Think about it. Thomas won’t know you’re there, but I will, and I doubt we’ll see much of each other once you start your masters program in June.”

“True. Alright. I’ll think about it,” Harry promises. 

He runs out to the grocery store, then comes straight back home and doesn’t leave again until the next morning when he has to go to school. The whole drive there, Harry’s nervous, but it turns out to be for nothing because it’s just like any other school day. And the entire week goes the same way. Normal. It’s a little unsettling. 

÷


	17. Chapter 17

÷

When Liam asks if Harry wants to join him at the shelter, Harry jumps at the chance since he hasn’t heard anything from Denise. He and Liam haven’t had the chance to spend any time one on one since Liam let him down easy and he misses his friend.

“Hey, Li?” Harry hopes he can pull off nonchalant. “Have any crushes?” He cringes as soon as he says it. 

“Is this going to be a thing now, where you make fun of me for what, in my opinion, was an honest mistake.”

“No, not… I didn’t mean anything like that. I was just… trying to make conversation, I guess.”

“Oh, well, um… no, then. Not right now anyway. I was dating a girl over the summer, but it didn’t work out, went on a few dates with a guy back in October, same thing. But no, no crushes. Seems a little juvenile, doesn’t it?”

“You think so?”

“Well, yeah. Like, it’s one thing to have a crush on someone like, when you’re young and, I don’t know, dating around or whatever. Or even if you’re already in a committed relationship. When you were married, if you had a crush on someone other than Gabe it would’ve been like… harmless, right? Like a meaningless attraction.” 

Liam looks over at him as if to confirm that he’s correct, so Harry nods. 

“But like, me, for instance. If I have a crush on someone, what’s stopping me from pursuing them? Unless they’re in a relationship or uninterested. So, I guess what I’m saying is that, if I had a crush on someone, I wouldn’t call it that. I’d probably just think to myself ‘self, that person is cute’ and I’d ask them out.”

“Really? That easy, huh?”

Liam chuckles and says, “No, but yes? I’ve gotten braver in my old age. I just think, what do I have to lose?”

“Oh…” Harry sucks his upper lip between his teeth and lets it go. What he could lose is obvious. But there doesn’t seem to be a way to bring it up without Liam figuring things out. “That makes sense.”

“Listen, man, for what it’s worth, when you meet someone, I think you’ll be fine. I know you’ve said you’re not ready. But when you are… Marriage is tough. Divorce is too, and you’ve survived both. Come out the other side and all that. You know your way around relationships, even if you don’t really know how to date.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Besides, everyone knows who your crush is.”

Harry freezes, accidentally jerking Kristen Stewart back on her leash, and when Liam turns to see if he’s alright, he tries to play it off by saying “Oh, yeah, who?” before walking again, staying slightly ahead of Liam, so he can’t see his face.

“Me, of course.” Liam cackles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said, so Harry laughs along, feeling like he just missed getting hit by a train. When they finish at the shelter, Liam drives Harry back home, but before Harry climbs out of his car, Liam says, “Hey, so, do me a favor. When you do decide you’re ready to start dating, let me know.”

“Why? You interested?” Harry raises his eyebrows and then winks, clicking his tongue obnoxiously.

“No, I’m just… I don’t know. Curious.”

“Alright, Liam. I’ll let you know. Promise,” Harry says and gets out of the car, waves goodbye and runs up the stairs to his apartment.

So he decides to wait and see. The things that Liam said make perfect sense, which should probably scare Harry more than it does. If Louis were just some guy that Harry knew in passing or saw at the grocery store or something, Harry could see himself going out of his way to speak to him a little more or maybe eventually work up the courage to ask him out. But since Louis is pretty much the furthest thing from ‘just some guy’, Harry decides to follow Gemma’s advice and wait it out. 

÷

Game night in March falls right on Sara’s one month birthday. It’s being held at Louis’ house, so Zayn and Niall come with the baby, and even Liam makes it. Harry goes over early to help set up and to distract Kate whenever she starts getting a little anxious, picking up on Louis’ nerves. 

“Why are you nervous? You had like a hundred guests here for a surprise party six weeks ago. A dozen people coming over to play Yahtzee should be a breeze.”

“We aren’t playing Yahtzee.” Louis ignores everything else Harry said and goes back to chopping up carrots for his veggie tray.

“I know that, Lou. I was trying… Never mind.” Harry slumps back against the couch and pats his lap, helping Kate up when she puts her paw on his knee. He was trying to make Louis feel better, which he thought was obvious. 

His big plan to wait out his crush hasn’t panned out as such. Rather than spend time together, Louis has been too busy to hang out a lot of the time, and Harry has no clue what he’s been doing. So instead of fading away or whatever it’s supposed to have done by now, it’s sort of… shelved itself, which he supposes is better than it ramping up. 

They don’t play Yahtzee. They play Catch Phrase. And Harry excels at Catch Phrase. Having honed his skills as an old school charades player from a young age, he switched over from physical clues to verbal clues fairly easily, and almost always finds himself on the winning team. 

Louis names them both captains, they pick teams, and within a few minutes, the game gets loud. Niall’s been wearing Sara strapped to his chest all night, so he hides from the noise in the kitchen, occasionally poking his head around the corner, both hands covering her ears, to guess if he thinks he knows the answer. 

Game night goes perfectly, and Harry still doesn’t know why Louis was worried, but he seems alright now, so he lets it go, even though he’s not really been speaking to Harry much all night. Harry chalks it up to them being on opposing teams and hopes he’s right and that he hasn’t done something to upset Louis without realizing it.

While Louis sees everyone out, Harry takes Kate McKinnon for her bedtime walk, waving as people leave the house and walk towards their own homes. Kate leads him back inside after a few minutes, and when he closes the door and hangs up her leash, he walks her back to the bedroom to make sure her bed is clean and her crate is open, in case she wants to go in there. 

It’s not a large room, so there’s no way for Harry to get inside since Louis, Liam, and Niall are all standing in the doorway, watching Zayn change Sara’s diaper.

“He’s getting pretty quick,” Louis observes, stepping sideways to let Kate through when she rubs against his leg. 

Niall nods and Liam asks, “You time each other?”

“Yeah, why not?” Zayn picks Sara up, cradling her against his chest, and turns around to Liam. “It’s not worse than you and Harry timing your showers.”

“That is… That is _for science,”_ Harry says, but he can’t keep a straight face. “My own personal science.”

Louis turns to him, raising one eyebrow. “Your own personal science? I feel like I should be involved.”

A fluttering sensation fills Harry’s stomach and he wants to tell Louis that he could be, if he wanted, but he keeps his mouth shut and Liam says, “I’ll show you the graphs. They’re nice.” 

Harry tugs on the collar of his shirt, starting to feel warm, and then realizes he’s wearing a sweater that he can easily remove, especially since he’s spending the night in that very room. He steps back into the hallway, pulls his sweater off, smoothing his hair, and straightening out his t-shirt, peeking between Liam and Louis into the bedroom. 

Zayn bounces Sara gently, patting her back, trying to get her to burp. It hasn’t been fun, Harry knows. He’s heard all about the sleepless nights and Sara’s issues with certain formulas, her acid reflux and the problems that causes, but he’s never seen it in person. The three of them are standing in the doorway when Zayn passes Sara to Niall and bends over to pick her bag up from the floor. They all move out of the way to let them through when Niall pats her back one time and she belches. And then whimpers. And then throws up. 

It reminds Harry a bit of _The Exorcist._ He’s heard of projectile vomiting before, but has been lucky enough not to witness it up to this point in his life. He manages to jump out of the way which happens to land him in the bathroom. So he grabs a towel and hands it to Liam who passes it to Louis who throws it to Zayn. It’s not a huge mess, after all, she’s a tiny baby, but it’s gross and smelly and Harry wishes he didn’t drink as much so that he could drive home. Because he definitely does not want to sleep in that bedroom tonight.

They clean it up pretty quickly, having an elderly dog means the occasional accident, and it’s really not that different, so it isn’t a big deal. Which is what Louis says, again, when Niall apologizes, again, just before they leave. Liam disappears into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later ready for bed, and because Louis has decided to hide in his bedroom, Harry helps Liam make up the couch. 

He turns off the lights in the front of the house so Liam can go to sleep, grabs his bag from the guest room, and knocks lightly at Louis’ bedroom door. “Lou?”

The door swings open and Louis immediately turns away, walking into his master bathroom, so Harry follows. 

He watches for a moment, while Louis brushes his teeth, then remembers why he’s in Louis’ room in the first place. “Hey, so I guess I’ll get an Uber.”

“What?” Louis asks around the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“I mean, I know it’ll air out and stuff, but I don’t want to sleep in there tonight.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harold. Sleep in here.”

Harry’s entire body stills. He’s pretty sure his heart stops for a second before it starts back up again and decides that two hundred beats per minute sounds like a good speed. Because Harry _cannot_ be trusted. He’s the _worst_ when he’s sleeping, as is evidenced by what almost happened at the hospital. Who knows what kind of stuff he gets up to when he’s fully unconscious. Yet, as if he has no free will at all, he nods, takes his bag to the guest bathroom, and hopes he doesn’t do what Sara did. 

It’s not as though he packed pajamas. Or owns any. He’s always been one of those people who sleeps better naked, so his concession to staying over has always been to leave his underwear on, but there’s no way in hell he’s doing that tonight. 

Except he doesn’t have much of a choice. He only brought jeans with him, so he can’t wear sweatpants, which he’d probably kick off in his sleep anyway. 

After a few deep breaths and after brushing his teeth twice because he’s too scared to leave the bathroom, Harry decides to just keep his t-shirt on with his briefs, and works up the courage to open the door. 

Louis is already in bed on the far side, and Kate is curled up in the middle, which is a relief because Harry hadn’t thought about her sharing the bed too, and providing a buffer. He closes the door and pulls down the covers, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of Louis laying there, cuddling their dog, waiting for him to come to bed. 

Halfway under the comforter, Harry realizes that he doesn’t just think it’d be kind of neat to climb into bed with Louis on a somewhat regular basis, but that he really, almost desperately, wants to do that every single night for the rest of his life. 

Harry rolls onto his left side, facing away from Kate and Louis. He lays awake for what feels like hours, unable to sleep and unwilling to move to check his phone for the time, but eventually he dozes off.

Usually, when he stays over at Louis’ house, Kate sleeps in the guest bed with him, even though Harry knows she sleeps in Louis’ room most nights. And she wakes him up every time by licking his ear. It’s almost a routine. 

When Harry wakes up, it’s not to Kate licking his ear or whining at the door or stepping on his balls. It’s to the sensation of his face against the warm, soft, bare skin of Louis’ chest. 

He panics, thrashing against the blanket, and trying to get out of the bed. Louis is instantly awake and standing across the room in nothing but a cut-off pair of thin, old grey sweatpants, hair all over the place, bewildered expression on his face. 

“Jesus Christ, Harry, what the hell?” Louis shouts, throwing his pillow at Harry and rubbing at a pink spot on his chest. “That fucking hurt!”

“What?” Harry asks, voice cracking as his chest heaves. He holds one hand over his heart, hoping to keep it from escaping. 

“You hit me.” Louis turns and when he does, Harry follows his eyes to Kate, who apparently climbed into her little bed in the corner at some point during the night and is now looking at them like they’ve woken her up from a dream about bacon and cheese. Louis squats down to pet her, points at Harry, and says, “He did it. Not me.”

Standing seems to be the only thing Harry’s capable of at the moment, so he keeps that up, but he does lean back against the door for some extra support. “I didn’t do anything,” he finally says.

“Harold,” Louis says, standing back up and resting his hands on his hips, which Harry finds himself staring at. He jerks his gaze up and forces himself to look Louis in the eye. “You must’ve had a bad dream or something, but you did hit me right here.” He lifts his hand to touch the mark on his chest, looking down at it.

“Oh, I…” Harry watches as Louis presses at the redness on his chest, wincing at the touch, and somehow, knowing that Louis is in pain is enough of a distraction from his own emotional catastrophe that he’s able to catch his breath. He pushes himself off the door and walks around the bed to get a better look at Louis’ mark, lifting his hand to touch it, but stopping just a few inches away. For a beat, he and Louis lock eyes, and Harry pulls his hand back, reaching up to pinch his lip. “I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s alright. Just a little sore,” Louis reassures him, glancing down again and then looking back up at Harry. 

“No, no, it’s not… um… I sort of freaked out because… well, because of the cuddling and I’m not…” It’s impossible to find the right words because there are no words for this, as far as he knows. Thoughts and feelings were much easier to handle when he could just ignore them.

“It really is okay. I mean, I’m not hurt and—”

“Wait. Please.” Harry closes his eyes and presses his fingertips to his temples, breathing deeply. “I’m, um… I’ve been trying to be better at like, communicating. Talking. Whatever. I…” He drops his hands, blinking his eyes open to find Louis looking at him expectantly, and he can’t talk and hold eye contact at the same time, so he looks down at Kate instead. “I’ve been having some, um… issues? With like, my feelings?”

“You sure about that?” Louis jokes, but Harry just shakes his head.

“It’s hard to like… articulate. Like, being divorced isn’t quite what I expected and… I don’t know. I never really thought about like… flirting or dating or crushes or whatever. So it’s hard to like, figure myself out. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Louis nods and Kate whines, so he bends down to pick her up, leaving Harry staring at the empty dog bed on the floor. “It makes sense, Harry. It’s fine, really. I think—”

“No, please, just…” Harry holds a hand up and says, “I need to say… So these, um… feelings. They’re really overwhelming and like, our friendship is so important to me. You’re my best friend and like, I can’t… I guess they’ll fade?”

“Harry, I value our friendship too. So much and—”

“Let me—”

“I think I know what—”

“Stop, Louis. Please,” Harry begs and Louis sighs defeatedly, shifting Kate McKinnon in his arms. “Okay, so. Good. Right, um… Liam? He thought I was trying to date him or flirt with him… and, fuck. I mean, I wasn’t. Hitting on Liam. I’m sorry this is so awkward—Sorry _I’m_ so awkward.” 

“Harry—”

“No, let me finish,” Harry snaps. “Sorry. I… I just… I know they’ll go away. The feelings. And like, please just ignore me? Ignore it. Just pretend I’m not like, being weird around you, ’cause like, Liam tried to let me down gently and I…” Harry closes his eyes again, squeezing them shut tight and says, “I, um… Don’t say anything. Like I told you, don’t try to pacify me, okay? Just… It’ll be fine. I promise. Okay?”

When Harry finishes talking, he really does feel better. Getting everything out in the open is such a weight off his shoulders and maybe that release will help him get past whatever this is. 

Louis’ eyebrows are drawn together and his entire face looks tense, like he’s been clenching his teeth in an effort not to interrupt Harry, which he’s grateful for. He just… seems upset. Which is exactly what Harry was trying to avoid. 

The silence stretches out between them, but then Louis seems to realize that he needs to respond, so he says, “Yeah. Yeah, Harold. I said it’s okay.”

“You’re sure?” 

“Of course. I _did_ promise not to tell you everything’s fine if it isn’t. I’m not a liar.” Louis rolls his eyes and leans down to set Kate onto the floor. When he stands up, he says, “Want to come with us?” 

“No, um… Not… Not today. I think I should go home and like, I don’t know, try to work on, um… being normal.”

Kate howls from the living room and Louis automatically takes a step forward, so Harry moves aside. As soon as Louis walks through the bedroom door, he calls out without looking back, “Have fun being normal, Harold.”

Harry sits heavily on the edge of the bed, bends over and folds his arms on his knees, letting his head hang down. Normal is the furthest thing from how he feels at the moment, but hopefully he really will start to feel more like himself soon. 

He stands up and grabs his bag from the corner, pulling on the same jeans from the night before, then he lifts the comforter in search of his t-shirt which he finds in a ball at the foot of the bed, and while he pulls it over his head, he tries to avoid thinking about the conversation that he just carried on while wearing nothing but his underwear. There’s never been a time in his life when he thought he’d end up where he is now. 

Normally when he stays over, they have breakfast and hang out for a while, but it’ll be too uncomfortable today, so Harry hurries to living room to get his shoes and keys, completely forgetting that Liam spent the night on the couch. 

“Oh, um… Hi.” Harry waves awkwardly and says, “I’m going home.”

“I gathered as much. You’re not quiet. Neither of you,” Liam says as he stands up from the couch, and Harry’s face and neck start to feel warm. He claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pats it a little harder than usual. “Good luck with everything, man.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers. He nods and pulls open the front door, stepping outside and climbing into his minivan as fast as he can, so he can drive off before Louis and Kate come back from their walk.

÷

It turns out that spending his entire Sunday working on being normal is a complete waste of time because there isn’t much to do alone in his apartment. He moves his sofas around a few times, but they wind up in an almost identical position, just mirrored, and then he wastes a few hours laying on them one at a time, watching movies on his laptop, and trying to figure out which is more comfortable. 

Unfortunately, his brain decided that, as soon as Louis slept on one of the couches, it was Louis’ couch, and Harry can’t even sit on it without thinking of Valentine’s Day night in the hospital and the following morning. 

Around three in the afternoon, he gives up the pretense that he’s actually doing anything of value, opens a bottle of wine, pours as much as he can fit into a large water glass, walks through the living room while glaring at the sofas, and goes straight to his bed. Which, thankfully, he is the only person ever to sleep in. 

Letting Gabe take all the furniture was a good idea. 

Romantic comedies, Harry’s old stand-by for mindless entertainment, are useless as a distraction. Even Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm in a diner scene from _When Harry Met Sally_ doesn’t do it, and _The Notebook_ only makes him cry, so he turns it off and Googles pictures of Ryan Gosling shirtless, which seems like an excellent idea at first. 

Except he winds up watching a montage of short clips of him from every movie in which he’s ever removed an article of clothing. And it’s fine, actually, because with the wine and Ryan, he finally stops thinking about Louis and the embarrassing spectacle he made of himself that morning. He’s half-hard watching shirtless Ryan Gosling GIFs in the middle of his very own bed with absolutely nothing else to do with his day. It takes him approximately thirty seconds to go from bored and a little horny to digging through his nightstand drawer for the lube that he’s positive is in there somewhere, while mentally listing possible substitutions in his kitchen cabinets. 

Once he finds it, he sets his laptop off to the side, mutes it, and starts the video montage on a loop, giggling while he kicks his briefs onto the floor and yanks his t-shirt off. He drizzles the lube directly onto his dick, hissing when the cold liquid hits his skin, and laughing again as he starts to stroke himself. 

With his clean hand, he adjusts his pillow, tips the laptop screen, then grabs the lube and adds a little more, getting his dick so wet that it drips over his balls and down the crack of his ass. As much as he was looking forward to jerking off to the thought of sucking Ryan Gosling’s dick, he finds that he’s suddenly much more interested in adding a few fingers to the fantasy. 

He turns onto his side to face his laptop, pours an unnecessary amount of lube into his hand and tosses the bottle away, dipping three fingers into the puddle and spreading it over his rim, rubbing slow circles while he keeps a steady rhythm with the hand on his cock. The video montage starts over with Ryan taking his shirt off in slow motion and Harry pushes one finger in, biting his lip to keep quiet, but letting go of a low moan when he remembers that he can do that now. 

When he works a second finger in, it’s a stretch and it takes him a minute to adjust. He breathes deeply and thumbs the head of his cock, body jerking at the sensation and forcing his fingers a little further in, driving home the fact that he hasn’t done this to himself in more than a year. An image of Gabe on his hands and knees flashes in his head, a remnant of his old fantasy, but it’s gone as suddenly as it appeared, replaced by the picture of Ryan Gosling on the screen in front of him. 

Harry focuses on Ryan’s tan, broad shoulders, letting his gaze wander over the muscles of his chest and abs, drifting to his arms, his neck… The screen changes to another clip and it throws Harry for a second, stilling his hands, so he closes his eyes, replaying the memory of the earlier clip instead. Tightening his grip, Harry strokes himself faster for a bit, slipping his fingers further inside, and whining into his pillow when he can’t quite reach his prostate. 

His wine-drunk mind jumps from the memory of throwing out his old purple dildo to the thought of buying a new one, and he groans pathetically at the phantom sensation of fucking himself with one, just the way he’s lying on his side on the bed. And god, it’s a fantasy, so he shouldn’t be the one doing the work. 

Taking a quick peek at this laptop, it’s easier to picture being fucked with one… Ryan Gosling pushing it in slowly while Harry’s on his hands and knees... on his back getting his cock sucked while a vibrator presses against his prostate... in the shower while the warm water rains down, washing over him... flat on his stomach on the bed so he can’t touch himself and has to rut against the mattress... hands gripping the edge of his dresser while he watches in the mirror as his face contorts with pleasure... draped over the back of the sofa, wrists held tight together behind his back while Louis fucks a fat dildo inside— Harry’s breath catches and he opens his eyes.

A jolt of electricity courses through his veins and Harry bucks his hips, fucking into his hand, shoving his fingers in hard, closing his eyes again, and taking himself right back to the living room sofa, where the dildo is replaced by Louis’ cock, thick and long, slamming into him relentlessly. Pinned in place, unable to move at all, he trembles as Louis takes him rougher and faster, and his own voice echoes in his imagination, begging for Louis to let him touch himself. With each thrust, Harry is pressed harder against the couch, and they both grunt every time Louis snaps his hips. 

Harry tips his head back and moans and the slight shifting of his body allows his fingers that much further inside, his fingertips drag over his prostate and he presses against it, coming into his hand and onto his comforter. 

Whimpering, he gingerly slides his fingers free and rolls onto his back, chest heaving, mind spinning from the orgasm, the wine, the fantasy, and the realization that he is, so far, failing miserably in his attempt to be normal when it comes to Louis. 

÷


	18. Chapter 18

÷

When Harry’s alarm goes off Monday morning, he’s already been awake for a while. Fortunately, he’s not hungover. Unfortunately, he remembers every second of his day yesterday, including dragging his come covered comforter to the washing machine in the corner of his kitchen. 

His post-orgasm shower didn’t do a thing to clear his mind, and he’s still unable to shake the memory of the night before. In fact, it was the first thing he thought of when he opened his eyes. 

On the way in to work, he blares his music, shouting along to every song, and it keeps his mind clear of anything else. He’s earlier than usual, pulling into the parking lot about ten minutes before he typically does, which he takes as a good sign. Louis isn’t there yet, which he decides to take as another good sign, because it means he can avoid him a little bit longer. 

Except that all it does is postpone the inevitable. 

As soon as the bell rings and his classroom clears out before their planning period, Harry heads for the teachers lounge to wash his coffee cup. Beside the sink, where it is every day, is Louis’ travel mug, and normally that gives him a little burst of happiness that his gift is appreciated, but today it makes him think of Christmas Eve, spending Louis’ birthday with his family, and how warm and wonderful he’d felt all day. And how he’d rearranged his own holiday plans to stay in town. 

Fumbling with his cup, he drops it in the sink, splashing some of the suds up onto his shirt. Harry sighs and rinses their cups, setting them out to dry, turning at the sound of the door opening. Liam walks in, and Harry keeps his head up, facing the doorway, knowing that Louis will probably walk in right behind him, but the second he does, all Harry can see is the blue of his sweater, the same cornflower blue of his couches. 

And for the rest of the hour, he struggles to think about anything other than how absolutely mortified he is at the memory of the previous night. He can’t even look at Louis without seeing flashes of it behind his eyelids, and he doesn’t know how he makes it through the rest of the day. 

The next morning, Harry sets out to have a normal day even if it kills him, so when he pulls up at school he parks next to Louis, as usual. The bell rings prior to their planning period, and Harry’s still sitting behind his desk, trying to unstick a staple from his stapler when the storage room door swings open and Louis walks in, making him jump a little in his seat. 

Louis is clean shaven, with his hair styled up off his face, and he’s dressed in all black today, which thankfully does not match _any_ of the furniture in Harry’s apartment, but combined with the hair, it does make him look like James Dean, who Harry had a huge crush on as a teenager, even though at the time he didn’t realize what it was. Harry’s brain feels like it’s going to burst and he can’t do anything but sit there wide-eyed while Louis crosses the room to the other door leading to the hallway. 

As he walks through the door, Louis looks back over his shoulder, grinning as he says the same thing he always says, “Alright, Harold, don’t forget your keys.”

Throughout the planning period, everytime Harry looks at Louis in his black turtleneck sweater, he thinks about James Dean, which is slightly easier for him to deal with, but it still makes him unsure and nervous, though Louis doesn’t seem to notice. Again, Harry manages to avoid any one on one time with him, only seeing him in the hallway when they’re both surrounded by crowds of students. 

If he stays late enough, he’ll be able to avoid Louis for another day. Even though he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help but want to, too afraid of blurting out a bunch of nonsense about his feelings again, which… 

At least Louis hasn’t mentioned it. He seems to be doing exactly what Harry asked him to, and ignoring it completely. Which should be a good thing. 

There’s no reason he should be disappointed. 

After Harry dismisses his last class, he gathers up the papers he needs to make copies of, and starts reading over them one last time to catch any typos or mistakes he may have missed when he was reading over them on his laptop. Tapping his lip with his index finger, trying to decide whether to reprint everything in a larger font, the sound of the storage closet opening draws his attention, and knowing that it has to be Louis doesn’t stop him from being surprised. 

Louis walks towards him, smoothing his hand over the front of his sweater, and drawing Harry’s eyes down. When he notices what he’s doing, Harry snaps his gaze up to Louis’ face, and watches his approach. 

“Are you coming by to walk Kate today?” Louis tilts his head and scratches his chin with his thumb. 

“Yeah, um… Yeah. I was planning to. Yeah.” 

“Cool. I’m planning to head out around four-thirty, but I can leave earlier if you are. Let me know.” Louis points his finger guns at Harry and winks the way he’s done a million times before, cheesy and obnoxious, and without waiting for Harry to return the gesture with his invisible lightsaber, he disappears back into the storage room. 

There’s no way he’s getting out of it now, so Harry finishes going through his papers, corrects the few errors he finds, and reprints them in a larger font. He drops his things off on his desk, turns off his classroom lights, locks the door, and carries his papers up to the front office. 

Principal Watts corners him in the copy room, and he winds up talking to her about his upcoming masters program for a while, then gets pulled into a different conversation with another English teacher about next year’s contracts. When he finally gets to the copier, it throws a fit, and Harry ends up finishing much later than he intended. 

Assuming that Louis gave up and went home, Harry should be relieved, but he’s not. He puts his stack of copies away, gathers his things, and turns to grab his cup off the counter, stopping when he sees that Louis left his behind. He picks it up too. 

Frowning while he tries to decide whether or not to leave it there, Harry looks up when the door opens, breath catching at the sight of Louis looking like James Dean yet again. He’s stunning and it takes a moment for Harry to recover. 

“Hey, sorry, um…” Harry says, and then chews on his lip for a second. “I got caught up in the front office with Watts.”

Louis clears his throat and says, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, Harold. Kate McKinnon waits for no man.” He snatches his cup from Harry’s hand and inspects it for cleanliness like he does every day, tutting at an imaginary smudge here and there while they walk out to the parking lot, and it’s such a routine thing that it comforts Harry. Of course, Louis has been nothing but wonderful about this whole thing.

Like usual, they play Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who gets to hold the leash, and Harry wins again. Kate seems to be feeling really good today, the weather is a bit better, and her arthritis doesn’t appear to be bothering her, so they walk a little further than they have been. 

While they’re stopped on the side of the road so that Kate can sniff the same overgrown azaleas that she always sniffs, Louis says, “I’ve been working on my future plans, Harold. Don’t know if I told you, but Fizzy can’t buy the house.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Harry says, but he’s only maybe half sorry. Knowing that Louis won’t end up moving across town is good news. “What’s she going to do?”

“Rent it.”

Well, there goes that small relief. “Really?” 

“Yeah, it’s actually better, I think. Opens up some options for me. There are more houses here for rent than for sale, and I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try apartment living. You and Liam seem to like it, and Liam’s complex allows pets, so… That’s a possibility.”

Harry looks over at him, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t see you in an apartment. Like, at all. Have you ever lived in one?” 

“Yes, Harold. I have.” Louis smirks and knocks their shoulders together and Harry can’t help but smile. “Once.”

“Dorms don’t count.”

“I know that. I lived in one with Pete before I got the house, remember? I told you.”

“Oh, yeah. But still. I mean, do what you want, but… I miss having a house. And I’ve only ever lived in the one.”

“Yeah? What about your neighbors?”

Harry rolls his eyes and says, “I miss the _neighborhood_ too. Even though I’m here all the time, it’s not the same.”

“We don’t miss you. At all.” 

Harry hums and kicks at a bunch of acorns on the side of the road. It seems so unlikely that he would be so lucky to find friends like he’s found here. Louis especially. And it’s hard to imagine going through the last year of his life without him. “I’m sorry I’ve been weird.”

“Harold, can you stop apologizing for like, living. It’s annoying.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m just sorry I’ve—”

“Harold!” Louis stops in the middle of the road, holding his arms out wide, and spins around. “I’m weird. You’re weird. Kate McKinnon’s weird. Get over yourself, man.” 

“You’re mean. Kate’s not weird.” Harry lifts the handle of the leash and shakes it at him.

“Fine. I’ll give you that. But the rest?” Louis drops his arms to the side and walks closer to Harry, meeting and holding his gaze, blue eyes so intense that it’s impossible to look away. He lowers his voice and says, “I know you’ve got something going on, Harry, and I’m not really clear what it is, but that’s okay. I figure, if you want me to know, you’ll tell me. I’m here. Always.” He blinks and looks away, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not getting rid of me now that you’ve bought me a custom travel mug. Okay?”

Harry sucks his lower lip into his mouth and lets it go, scrunching his nose and twisting his mouth to the side in an effort to hide his smile. “Okay, Lou.”

“Good. So. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“No, um…” Harry shakes his head. He promised Gemma he’d call her at seven o’clock and he knows they’ll end up talking for a while, then he has plans to volunteer with Liam on Wednesday. “I can’t, actually. But, um… Thursday?”

“Can’t do Thursday,” Louis says, and Harry feels the smile drop off his face. “Science Club.”

“Oh! Well, um… Okay, I mean, are we all getting together Friday?”

“I think so, yeah.” 

Harry hands Louis the leash and squats down to pet Kate and kiss her nose, then he stands and says, “Alright, Lou. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” Louis picks up Kate and holds her paw, waving it at Harry as he drives away. 

÷

While he waits for seven o’clock and the phone call from Gemma, he does some laundry, eats a quick dinner, and decides what to wear the next day. None of that really distracts him from his thoughts. It’s been a month since he first talked to Gemma about his crush on Louis and it hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s intensified. And the scariest part is that he’s pretty sure what that means, but he wants to get an outside opinion.

Since the text he sent her earlier that day said, “Need to have that different conversation tonight at seven,” she rightfully bypasses the niceties and goes straight for it.

“The crush hasn’t faded, then? Didn’t think it would.”

“Yeah— Wait. You didn’t?”

“Nope. So what are you thinking?”

“I… I think I have like, real feelings for him. And I think… I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what do you think your options are?”

“I don’t know. I guess… I mean, I can continue to hope it fades?”

“Do you though? Hope it fades?”

“No, but like, what other choice is there? Tell him? ‘Hey, Lou, I know it’s weird since we’re friends, but I want to like, date you, if that’s cool with you?’ I don’t think so.”

“Why not though? You could probably work on your approach, but other than that, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Nothing wrong… I’m barely divorced. Like, kind of screwed up from that, and like… He knows why. He knows why we divorced. The kid thing.”

“Oh, Harry, well, if he doesn’t want kids… You don’t want to—”

“No, he does. We’ve talked about it.”

“Okay, so… What’s the problem?”

“I… I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s too soon for me? And isn’t it stupid to like, risk our friendship?”

“I mean, aren’t you sort of doing that anyway? How’s that friendship going to hold up if he starts dating someone?”

Harry hums and presses his lips together, biting them. That would be horrible and he’d wind up avoiding any interactions with Louis and whoever he dated at all costs. He takes a deep breath and says, “Point made.”

“That was way too easy. What’s going on?”

“I, um… I think he might… I don’t know. There might be something there, like, from him.”

“Of course there is, Harry. Have you not… He took you home with him for Christmas to meet his family, he threw a huge party for your birthday, he adopted a dog for you…”

“I know.”

“Do I need to go on?”

“No, I… I think I just… I want your opinion, I think.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy. Go for it. You’ve got nothing to lose. From everything you’ve told me, Louis seems like a great guy. Maybe a little too into you, but that’ll pass once you’ve been dating for a while.”

“Shut up. There’s no guarantee—”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”

“I’m just… a little scared, I guess. I mean, look how my last relationship turned out.”

“Harry, you’re not marrying him tomorrow. Just talk to the guy. Tell him how you feel. Start small, is what I’m saying.”

÷

The next day, when they’re volunteering, he plans on telling Liam that he’s ready to date. But he chickens out. Waiting through the rest of the week is torture, and by the time Friday comes, Harry wonders if he’s getting an ulcer or if he’s just that nervous. He has a plan. Hang out with the guys Friday night, corner Liam at some point to have a chat and hopefully some positive reinforcement. Then he and Liam will stay over at Louis’ house. Once Liam leaves on Saturday morning, Harry can talk to Louis. 

Except he’s really, really nervous. Like, his stomach won’t stop twisting and his palms keep sweating at random times throughout the day and every time he sees Louis his mouth goes dry because, now that he’s decided to tell him, he wants to get it over with. And he’s not sure he’s going to make it through a night of drinking without confessing his feelings in front of everyone. 

On Friday evening, to walk Kate McKinnon, Harry feels like a slob in sweatpants and a hoodie, next to Louis, who’s still in the fitted grey trousers and deep red button down shirt he wore to work that day. 

At the spot where they normally turn around, Harry glances over, watching Louis from the corner of his eye. They’ve both been quiet, only making small talk about Kate and the weather, and Harry wonders if Louis can sense something coming. 

“Lou?”

“Harold.”

Harry looks over again, then focuses forward, finding it easier to talk that way. “I, um… I need to tell you something and like, it’s going to be… I’m kind of nervous, so like…”

“Harold. I know how you are. Just talk. I’ll listen. You tell me when you’re finished.”

“Okay,” Harry says and chews on the inside of his cheek, passing Kate’s leash to Louis to hold. “I… I… Well, first of all, you’re like, the best person. I really… I’m really glad I met you and I know you. You’re just… I, um… Fuck. Okay. Like a while back I thought I had a crush on you. That’s why I was being so weird and like, I talked to my sister and she said that crushes fade usually, so I thought okay, I’ll do that. Wait it out? But then I was talking to Liam and like, he was saying that crushes aren’t really… a thing for him. And I thought about it and I think I… I don’t know. I think maybe I feel that way too. Like, crushes in the traditional sense? Kind of short attractions to people that don’t last, and maybe people develop them on celebrities or, I don’t know, when we were teenagers, Gemma had a crush on— You know what? Doesn’t matter. My point is that I don’t have a crush on you.” He takes a deep breath. He got it all out. It went better than he expected. “Okay. I’m finished.”

“Are you… I don’t understand why you would tell me that. That's not… I mean… Why?”

“I…” Harry frowns and stops walking, watching Kate McKinnon shuffle away for a few feet until Louis notices that Harry isn’t beside him anymore and turns around. “I wanted you to know. I thought you’d _want_ to know.”

Louis narrows his eyes and says, “You thought I’d want to know that you don’t have a crush on me? Like, what? I’m supposed to feel like I dodged a bullet or something?”

“No, that’s not…” Harry pinches his lip and tugs on it, thinking back over what he said. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant—”

“Nope,” Louis says and raises both hands up to stop him. He lowers his hands to his hips, takes a few steps closer and Kate follows him. “If you’re going to spend like, another five minutes telling me in a rambling, roundabout way that you don’t—”

“No, but I—”

“No, but nothing. Most days I love listening to you talk. Could probably listen to you read like, I don’t know, that giant dictionary you have in your classroom, but I can’t… I’m not standing here and listening to you tell me you don’t…” Louis drops his chin to his chest and his hands to his sides and Harry realizes he still has a lot of improvements to make if, in trying to communicate his feelings to Louis, he’s managed to convince him that he doesn’t have any. 

Slowly Harry moves closer, and whatever nervousness he’s been carrying around all week disappears when Louis lifts his head and Harry sees the tightness of his jaw, and his pinched expression, because he never wants to see Louis unhappy. Harry shakes his head, smiling when the toe of his sneaker bumps Louis’ shoe. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, lifting his hands to cup Louis’ jaw, keeping him from turning away again. One day, hopefully he’ll be able to convey his thoughts and feelings in a coherent manner, but until then… Harry leans in, smiling when Louis’ eyes dart around, coming back to look at Harry’s mouth, but when he moves in to kiss him, Louis stops him with a hand to his chest.

“I…” Louis blinks. “Did you… Are you… um…”

“Now who’s rambling?” Harry mutters and when Louis cocks an eyebrow, Harry says, “Me, still, probably.” 

“Explain.” Louis gently shoves him back a bit. “Short sentences.”

Harry’s eyes go wide, slightly confused because he thought he explained already, but maybe he’s just that awful at it. So he starts with what he wants in his immediate future. “I want to kiss you.”

Louis tilts his head, keeping quiet.

“I don’t want to be _just_ your friend. I want more. Have for a while, actually, I wasn’t really, um…” Harry tips his head back, looking up at the clouds, closing his eyes when he drops his head back down, nerves making his stomach twist again. “I don’t know if I didn’t know or notice that I had feelings or what, but, um… I do, and like I said, I thought it was just a crush. Like a stupid little… crush. That would go away. But then it didn’t and then I realized I didn’t want it to and then I thought that maybe, like… maybe you might… I don’t know. Thought you could feel something too and I didn’t want to ruin things because you’re so, like… incredible. Like, this amazing friend and I didn’t want to lose that. But then I thought about you dating someone else and I knew I had to tell you because I knew it wasn’t going away, so I figured—”

Louis’ hands are cool on the flushed skin of his cheeks, the surprise along with the sensation making his mouth part in a small gasp just as Louis’ lips meet his, and when Harry’s hands find Louis’ hips, he brings him closer, tilting his head, wanting to feel every part of him at once. But when he tries to deepen the kiss, Louis backs off until Harry’s hands are no longer touching him.

Putting a few feet between them, Louis looks down at Kate who’s sitting there patiently waiting, then back up at Harry. “Are you serious about this?”

“Yeah.” Harry says, then frowns. “Yes. Why? Are you…”

“Okay.” Louis nods quickly, and takes off at a fast enough clip that Harry has to jog to catch up. When he does and falls into step beside him, Louis says, “We have to talk.”

“Oh, yeah, alright, so I was thinking like—”

“No. Sorry. _I_ have to talk.” 

“Oh… Okay.” The swirling in his stomach feels as if it starts going in two different directions at the same time and it spins faster the closer they get to Louis’ house. 

As soon as they’re inside, Louis points to the couch and says, “Sit.” So Harry sits.

Louis scratches at his stubble, crease between his brow deepening when he sits down on the other end of the couch. And he seems to be gathering his thoughts, so Harry remains quiet, watching him, and chewing on the side of his thumb. 

“I, um…” Louis starts, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I asked you if you’re serious about… this.” He gestures between them and Harry nods, opening his mouth to speak, but Louis holds up one finger. “There’s so much to consider if, well—We work together. And I have, you know, I’ve told you about how I’ve been approaching dates, right?” He raises his eyebrows and seems to be waiting for Harry to respond. 

“Yeah. If they don’t like it, they can leave. Isn’t that what you said?”

Nodding once quickly, Louis says, “The dates I’ve had, they haven’t been with anyone I knew well beforehand. So I’ve sort of led with the idea that we’d get to know each other first, take the time to date and see how that works out, but that I ultimately want, you know.”

“Yeah—”

“But I can’t do that with you, Harry. I mean, if we do this, we can’t… We already know each other. This can’t be like, a casual thing for me. And I don’t know where your head is. You were married for a long time and it’s understandable if you want to date around, but I can’t do that. Like, be that sort of, I don’t know, testing the waters thing. Dipping your toes into dating after so long, I guess?”

“Okay—”

“I just… I like you a lot, Harry. So I guess what I’m saying here is that I need to know how serious is serious? What does that mean for you?” 

“Oh. I, um… I do too. Like you a lot.” Harry smiles. Louis is his favorite person. He bites his lip, turning a bit on the couch to pull his knees up onto the cushion. “I mean, I don’t know? I was just thinking about us, like, being together. Like dating. A relationship? I don’t want to date around. I mean, I thought about it, ’cause I thought that’s what I was supposed to do, but I don’t… I want to date you. Specifically?”

For a moment, Louis watches him, then he asks, “And the boys? Would you want to tell them?”

“I mean, not right this second, but yeah. Would you not want to? We could wait, I guess. I don’t know if I—”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to keep anything secret. I’m shit at it, for one thing, but also, I…” He clears his throat and sits up straighter. “If we’re together, I’m telling everyone. I mean, not like, students, but...”

Clenching his fists in his lap, Harry tries to keep his breathing even and steady, still a little afraid that it’s all going to go to hell any second now. “I want that. I want you. And I don’t want to like, take it slow or whatever, like you said. I want to try to like, do that. With you.”

“Yeah?” Louis grins, smile a little lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Harry nods. The next thing he knows, Louis is climbing into his lap, straddling his thighs, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. 

Stupidly, Harry tries to speak his agreement, but the sound is muffled by Louis’ mouth. As soon as his lips part, Louis follows suit, using his hands in Harry’s hair to tilt his head to the side, slipping his tongue between Harry’s parted lips. Belatedly, Harry realizes his hands are uselessly resting on the sofa cushion on either side of his legs, so he moves them to Louis’ back, pulling him even closer, and slides one around to rest on his hip. Louis’ sharp teeth nip at Harry’s lower lip, and Harry moans into his mouth, immediately feeling the blush rise up his chest and neck to his cheeks, and he pulls away. 

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, ducking down and resting his forehead on Louis’ shoulder.

“You should be,” Louis says, hooking a finger under Harry’s chin and lifting it. “Was just getting started, but we should go. The boys’ll be waiting for us.” He sighs and leans down, sucking Harry’s lower lip into his mouth and biting it again, which draws another quiet moan from Harry, and he turns his head, breaking the kiss and squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. “Harold, no one can hear you but me. And Kate. ” 

“I know. I was just, um, I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, obviously. That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?” Louis asks through slightly narrowed eyes. 

The warmth surrounding Harry disappears when Louis stands up, holding a hand out to help him, and pulling him up off the couch. 

÷


	19. Chapter 19

÷

The plan is to hang out outside, so Kate McKinnon comes along, and Harry and Louis decide they’ll just behave the way that they would any other night, but it’s impossible, really. Harry keeps his fingers linked inside the front pocket of his black hoodie, holding tight to Kate’s leash, so that he’s not tempted to touch Louis. Not that he wouldn’t normally touch him because they touch all the time, but it’s sure to be glaringly apparent that something has shifted if he does. And it’s all he wants to do. 

His stomach does a flip and he has to dig his nails into the tops of his hands where they’re clasped together so that he doesn’t reach out and stroke the back of Louis’ arm. Louis has his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, so maybe he’s struggling too. It occurs to him that neither of them have said the word boyfriend, and suddenly he wants nothing more.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry whispers, biting his lip when Louis looks over at him, the waning evening light catching on the scruff of his jaw, the tips of his eyelashes, his hair gleaming when he reaches up to brush it off his forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Harold.” His nose twitches and he presses his lips together to hide his smile, but his cheeks start to turn pink and he can’t disguise that. 

“That just slipped out. I was trying to tell you that, if anyone asks, or when we tell people, um—” Harry feels heat traveling up from his chest and soon they’ll have matching blushes. “I want to call you my boyfriend.” 

Louis’ face blooms brighter, and before he knows it, Harry’s right hand is out of his pocket, reaching for Louis and he steps sideways to walk closer to him. The smile on Louis’ face doesn’t falter, and he pulls his hand from his pocket to meet Harry halfway, then stops. “I want that too.”

Louis is his _boyfriend_. The thought is enough to make him smile so big that Niall and Zayn can probably see his dimples from their house. 

“Do you,” Louis pauses. “Do you want to tell them now or…”

Harry freezes and when they both shove their hands back in their pockets, he snorts and says, “This isn’t going to be easy to hide.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “But it’ll be nice to have a little bit of time, tonight, just us.”

“And Liam.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah.” Louis hums and taps his lips. “We’ll figure it out. Even if we have to tell Liam tonight.”

The basement garage door is open and Niall and Liam are there on either side of the bar, so Harry looks around for Zayn, who he should’ve suspected was in the hammock, and he walks Kate McKinnon over under the oak trees. Sara is swaddled in a blanket, but wide awake on Zayn’s chest and Harry pauses with his hand to his heart. 

Kate circles around and lays curled up underneath the far side of the hammock, so Harry carefully climbs into the hammock sideways, draping the leash over the woven rope, and laying so that he’s facing Zayn and he’s able to reach through the open weaving of the ropes to scratch the top of Kate’s head with the tips of his fingers.

“I was going to drink your beer,” Harry says, “but you don’t have one.”

Zayn shakes his head, pushing against the ground with his feet, rocking the hammock so that Harry’s fingers trail over Kate’s head, back and forth. He covers Sara’s ears with both of his hands, lifts his head and shouts, “Louis!”

“Zayn!” Louis shouts back. 

“Pretty please, bring us beer and we’ll love you forever!” Then Zayn turns to Harry and mutters while he rubs Sara’s back. “Think he'll do it?”

Harry smacks Zayn’s arm. “I’ll get them.”

But when Harry starts the process involved in standing up from the hammock by searching for a stable place to grab and push himself up, Zayn says, “He’s already on the way.”

Letting his weight rest back on the hammock, Harry turns his head and hides his grin in his bicep while he waits for Louis’ approach. 

“Z,” Louis says, but the nickname somehow comes out sounding more formal than his name. He walks around behind the hammock and hands Zayn a bottle of beer, turns to Harry, winks and says, “Harold.” 

Harry’s hand shakes as we reaches out and grabs the bottle dangling from Louis’ fingertips. He looks from Louis’ hand to his smiling face and back again. 

“Zayn.” Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry, then grins at Zayn. “Have you decided on a middle name for Sara?”

“No,” Zayn says with a quiet chuckle. 

“Sounds like a story. I’m climbing on. Just a second.” Louis hands Harry his own beer and walks around in front of the hammock, cautiously crawling onto the other side of Zayn. He reaches across to take his beer, and brushes his fingers against Harry’s, smirking when he does. 

“Comfortable?” Zayn softly pats Sara’s back, looking over at Louis, waiting for him to agree before looking up at the underside of the branches, and saying, “We wanted to honor the women in our families, and if we’re able to adopt another, we don’t know if we’ll adopt an older child or something, so we wanted to be creative and combine our mom’s names but then Niall made a Renesmee joke and that idea flew out the window.”

Louis giggles into the back of his hand and the light dances in his eyes when they meet Harry’s. “So what’re you thinking?”

“Honestly?” Zayn clicks his tongue. “I’m thinking Niall picks a name. Or we don’t give her a middle name. Or we let her name herself.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis says, gaze never leaving Harry’s face. “Should make it Zayall.”

Harry honks an echoing laugh, slapping his hand over his mouth as his eyes dart to Sara, who’s looking at him like she’s waiting for him to do it again. Slowly he lowers his hand and raises his eyes to meet Louis’, finding him smiling back and he feels like he could burst with how happy it makes him. 

“You know today’s the vernal equinox?” Louis asks, propping himself up on his forearm and looking down at Zayn and Sara. “First day of spring. You could try to think of something spring related for a name.”

The circles Zayn’s been rubbing on Sara’s back slow to a stop and he turns towards Harry, lifting Sara from his chest and passing her to Harry who rolls onto his back to hold her properly. Zayn grabs onto Louis’ hand and he gives him the leverage to get himself out of the hammock, and Harry anchors himself by gripping Louis’ shoulder tight. Zayn turns back to face them and says, “I need to tell Niall before I forget.” 

Harry watches him walk across the driveway, then kisses the top of Sara’s head. “Your Uncle Louis is a smart man. Getting Zayn to leave us alone.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Harold,” Louis says, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes slightly. “He’s coming back right now.”

Shifting to make room for Zayn is nearly impossible with the baby in his arms, but Harry tries, wiggling sideway a fraction of an inch at a time, giving up when Zayn stops in front of him and reaches out to hand Louis two more beers.

“It’s time for her to go to bed,” Zayn says, leaning over to pick Sara up and lifting her to rest her head on his shoulder. He waits while they both finish their first beer, and takes their empties away when he leaves. 

Harry grabs onto the rope and rolls onto his side to face Louis. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Louis whispers back. “I really wasn’t trying to get him to leave.”

“I know.” Lying on his left side, Harry stretches his left arm across the woven rope and trails his fingers over Louis’ forearm. “So the solstice is shortest day and the equinox is the first day of spring?”

“The winter solstice is the shortest day.” Louis drops his hand on top of Harry’s stopping him from dragging his finger over his arm, but when Harry tenses and tries to pull away, he grabs Harry’s fingers and holds them, running his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, and Harry relaxes again. 

While he talks, Louis’ face is so expressive that Harry’s almost hypnotized watching his mouth move around words. “It’s right before Christmas, usually the twenty-first. Then the summer solstice is the longest day. Usually June twenty-first. Equinoxes are twice a year too. Usually today, March twentieth for the spring or vernal equinox, and September twenty-second for the fall or autumnal equinox. And on those days, day and night are about equal.”

“Louis,” Harry whispers, flipping his hand over and grabbing Louis’ wrist. He rubs at the soft skin on the inside, stopping to feel Louis’ pulse and pressing down slightly. “I want to kiss you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Louis says, but then he turns his head, looking towards the garage. “They’d see though.”

As much as Harry’s disappointed, he really does want just this little bit of time before they tell everyone. He tips his beer back and swallows, tilting the half-empty bottle so that the condensation catches the light. “I have to get up. We’re too close. Feel like I’m super obvious.” 

Kate’s leash is still lying there, draped over the edge of the hammock, but Harry picks it up and hands it to Louis, then clambers out of the hammock. He sits next to Liam at the bar and Niall pours him a shot of tequila because he’s decided he likes the name Aurora for Sara’s middle name. When Harry tells him it’s the name of a planet from Asimov’s _Robot_ Series, Niall nods and says that’s why he likes it, so Harry smiles and announces that it’s a beautiful name before knocking back a second shot of tequila and hopping down from his stool. 

He walks to the back of the garage and digs the dolly out from under a stack of empty kegs, and when he wheels it out of the garage, Louis is standing there, talking quietly to Liam. 

“Alright, Liam!” Harry drops the empty dolly forward and it clangs against the cement. “Want me to push you?”

Liam shakes his head and holds his full beer up for Harry to see. He starts to pout, but Niall shouts as he runs from behind the bar, “Do me!” 

Practice has definitely improved Harry’s ability to wheel someone around on a dolly, but it hasn’t improved Niall’s ability to be still for longer than five seconds at a time. He shifts from side to side, lifts one foot for no reason, wiggles his entire body against the metal bars leading to the handles, and generally makes Harry miserable the entire time by scaring him just enough to keep him on edge. 

Finally, Zayn comes downstairs, having put Sara to bed for the night, and Harry runs at him with Niall on the dolly, making a screeching noise at he comes to a stop in front of him and nudges Niall off and into Zayn’s arms. 

Harry leaves the dolly and goes back to the bar, leaning against the wooden ledge beside Louis on the stool he took after Harry ran around the driveway, swerving at him and Liam until they scattered. 

“Hi, tequila,” Louis says it like it’s a term of endearment and it makes Harry giggle. 

Before he knows what’s happening, his entire body moves forward into Louis’ space, and when his mind catches up, he freezes, eyes going wide, and rocks back onto his heels. “Oops.”

After that, they avoid each other as much as possible. It’s not easy. A few drinks later, Harry’s back in the hammock, alone this time, rocking back and forth until he feels slightly less drunk. When he can, he rolls out of the hammock, and surprises himself by not falling down. 

The dolly is still standing in the middle of the driveway, so he walks over and steps on sideways, yelling at the four of them gathered around the bar in the garage. “Who’s pushing me on this thing?”

No one says anything at first, and Harry clears his throat to yell louder, but Louis turns away from the bar and sets his drink down, walking over without saying a word. Feeling like he’s accidentally done something sneaky, Harry grins proudly, chewing on his lip as Louis gets closer.

“Are you going to be sick on me? How drunk are you?”

Harry shakes his head and says, “Drunk, but not sick. Promise. Now let’s go!” He rattles the dolly while he’s standing on it and Louis snatches the handles, stilling and quieting it as he steps up close behind it and Harry loops his arms around his neck. It takes him a second to forget the dolly and relax against Louis, and as soon as he does that, he drops his head onto his upper arm where it rests on Louis’ shoulder. 

As soon as Harry stills, Louis tips him back and, without giving him a second to adjust, takes off running in figure-eights and spirals all over the driveway. Harry tightens his arms around Louis’ neck, breathing in the scent of him when he nudges his nose against Louis’ warm skin. 

A moment later, Louis slows to a walk. “Alright?” He asks, turning his head. The scruff on his jaw scratches Harry’s cheek and Harry nods, which scratches his cheek again. Louis brings them to a stop and lowers the dolly to the ground. “You ready to go home?”

“Yeah.” It takes every bit of Harry’s will to step away from Louis and not kiss his neck when his lips were just so close. “Let’s get Liam.” 

He’s not nearly as dizzy as he expected to be, so he stops and waves his arms in the air. “Li! Ready to go?”

“Nah,” Liam says waving back at Harry. He nods at Niall and Zayn. “They’ve got a nice couch in the den.” 

Harry frowns and turns to Louis, who places a gentle hand on Harry’s lower back and says, “You saying my couch isn’t nice, Liam Payne?”

“No,” Niall calls across the bar. “We thought we’d give you two the night alone.”

Instantly, Harry’s spine stiffens, but Louis just chuckles quietly, rubbing his hand in circles on Harry’s back, and says, “We’re that obvious?”

Zayn nods vigorously, but Niall says, “Maybe. If we hadn’t seen you guys kissing in the street earlier, we probably would’ve figured it out.” 

Blood rushes to Harry’s face, and he wants to apologize to Louis for kissing him in broad daylight, even though Louis did kiss him first. But Liam smiles agreeably and says, “You guys clearly don’t want to talk about it now, so just go. Talk later.” He shoos them with both hands until Harry takes a step back, and Louis presses his hand against his lower back, digging his fingertips into the fabric of Harry’s hoodie. 

Harry lifts a hand in goodbye and spins around clumsily, bumping his shoulder into Louis’ chest, but Louis seems to take it in stride, circling his arm around Harry’s waist, handing him Kate’s leash, and guiding them down the driveway. 

“You okay with them knowing?” Louis asks, pressing a kiss to Harry’s sweatshirt-covered shoulder. 

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says, watching Kate shuffle along in front of them for a few seconds, then turning his head and waiting for his eyes to focus.

Louis keeps his right arm around Harry’s waist, resting that hand on his hip, and reaches over with his left hand to firmly wrap his fingers around Harry’s upper arm, and the three of them make there way down the street to Louis’ house. When they cross through the grass to Louis’ driveway, Harry looks at their minivans sitting side-by-side and sniffs, pursing his lips. 

“You alright?” Louis asks, letting go of Harry so that he can pick Kate up and climb the steps without his interference. 

“Yeah. Just happy,” Harry says, standing aside while Louis opens the door. “And a little drunk.”

Once Kate’s off her leash, she takes off down the hall, probably standing at the side of Louis’ bed, waiting to be picked up. Harry follows Louis to the kitchen for water, then to the bedroom, where Kate’s curled up in her bed in the corner. He hovers in the doorway, looking down at his clothes, cheeks warming at the thought of sleeping with Louis and not having to worry about keeping his clothes on. 

Water is running in the bathroom, and Harry grins, spinning in the hall and going to the guest bathroom for his toothbrush. He squeezes some toothpaste onto the bristles and wanders back through Louis’ bedroom to stand in his bathroom doorway and watch him brush his teeth. Louis pulls a silly face around his toothbrush and the foam in his mouth, and Harry almost chokes, bending over to laugh and spit into the sink. 

Putting his toothbrush back in its case and leaving it in Louis’ bathroom feels like such a huge thing, but all he did was move it from one bathroom to another, and that makes him pause for a second, staring at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink, and wondering how long he harbored feelings for Louis before he figured it out. 

Standing on the far side of the bed, Louis has already tugged his cut-off grey sweatpants up, and Harry pouts a little that he missed him changing. He waits and watches while Louis pulls his t-shirt off, climbs into the bed, settles back against the pillows, and finally looks up at him. 

There’s no reason to be shy, not when he stood in this very room the previous weekend, wearing nothing but his underwear while he rambled nonsense about his feelings for minutes on end. He tries to pry his sneakers off by stepping on the heels, but ends up bending over and untying them, kicking them under the edge of the bed. 

When he stands back up, Louis is sitting there, hands folded in his lap, eyebrows raised like he’s waiting. Harry shoves his sweatpants down, yanking Louis’ black hoodie over his head while trying to free his feet from his pants. He tosses everything into the corner and climbs into bed, grabbing for Louis before he’s even lying down properly.

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, scooting closer to Louis, who reaches for the lamp of his nightstand and turns it off. “Can’t see you.” 

“I’m here,” Louis says and his hand lands lightly on Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry circles his fingers around Louis’ wrist and moves his hand up Louis’ arm and down his side, spreading his fingers out over his ribcage. He slides it around to the middle of Louis’ back, pulling him in until their stomachs bump together. Giggling, Harry leans forward, feeling Louis’ breath on his face as their noses bump and he exhales. 

“Can I kiss you?” Harry whispers, lips brushing against the hair on Louis’ cheek. 

“Always,” Louis says, hand moving from Harry’s shoulder to the side of his neck. He rubs the pad of his thumb along Harry’s jaw, tilting his head slightly so that they’re lined up perfectly. 

As soon as their lips meet, Harry sighs, letting go of the weird tension from spending the evening amongst their friends. Knowing where Louis’ lips are gives Harry a mental map and he shifts, kissing his cheek, his cheekbone, the hinge of of jaw. “Don’t say that. I’ll never stop and we’ll never get anything done.”

“It’s oh…” Louis tips his head back when Harry kisses down the side of his neck and over, nuzzling against the hollow of his throat, and nipping at his skin. “It’s okay. Kate can probably, um… We’ll figure it out.”

Pushing his chest against Louis’, Harry plants his hand on the mattress and rolls him onto his back, hovering over him, and dipping back down to kiss up the other side of his neck. Pushing one knee between Louis’ thighs, which part easily, Harry settles his weight between them. He pulls his head back, blinking. Finally his eyes have adjusted enough that he can see Louis’ face in the dark, so he leans back down, seeking out Louis’ mouth.

Louis skims his hands over Harry’s back to his shoulder blades, scratching lightly down either side of his spine. He parts his lips for Harry to slip his tongue inside, and Harry loses himself in Louis for a moment, overwhelmed by his taste and his smell and their bodies pressed together. Harry lifts himself up slightly to say, “What do you want? Do you want to fuck me?”

Biting down on his lower lip, Louis hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Harry’s briefs, groaning as he slides his hands over Harry’s bum, digging his fingers into the muscle. “Want that. Want to suck you off, like, so bad. Want you to fuck me. Want… God, can’t wait to taste you, but not— Not tonight.” 

Harry stills at Louis’ words, pushing both hands into the mattress and lifting himself off of Louis completely. He crawls off of Louis and lays on his side, facing him, but with his eyes closed. His face burns in the dark. 

“Hey, hey,” Louis says, and Harry opens his eyes, watching his shadow as he shifts onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. “I just mean, not tonight, ’cause you’ve had a lot to drink and it’s late, and I, um, well, I don’t want to rush that.” He lets himself fall forward a bit, lips landing square on Harry’s forehead, where he leaves three kisses before saying, “No pressure, right? We can take our time.”

“Okay, yeah,” Harry says, wiggling to move his pillow a little. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t— don’t apologize, Harold. It’s kind of like a dream come true that you’re even here right now, so.”

“Really?” Harry can’t stop a little laugh from escaping and he shakes his head, hiding half of his face in the pillow.

“Yeah, really.” Louis pushes at Harry’s shoulder, pinching at the skin under his collarbone, tickling him and poking him in the stomach until Harry laughs so hard he can’t breathe, and he grabs at Louis’ hands finally catching them and holding them tightly. Louis hooks his foot over Harry’s knee, pulling him forward, and tangling their legs together. He hums and says, “It’s not like— Wait, do you not know— _Harold.”_

Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry says, “Yeah?”

“Okay, so I didn’t just wake up last weekend with feelings for you, I—”

“Neither did I!” Harry frowns and jerks back, dropping Louis’ hands. “That’s not fair, I—”

“Hey, wait, stop.” Louis reaches out and finds Harry’s hands in the dark. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I, well… I’ve sort of been carrying them around for a while, so it _is_ kind of a lot for me to, you know, have you here.”

“How long is a while?” Harry whispers, no longer trying to pull away. 

“I don’t know.” Louis shrugs and says, “A few months. Thought it was obvious.”

“Lou…” 

“Hush, just, um, you’re here now and I’d like to cuddle, so, if you’re not busy?” 

Harry pushes into Louis’ space, holding his face in both hands, and presses their lips together hard, pulling back and kissing him again, a little less violently. “Never too busy to cuddle you. But, um…” 

After one more quick kiss, Harry rolls over onto his other side, facing away from Louis, wiggling and backing up until he fits himself along Louis’ front. Louis snickers and buries his face between Harry’s shoulder blades, making him shiver when his beard scratches his skin. Louis bends his knees, tucking them behind Harry’s, and wraps his arm around Harry’s middle, fingers dancing over Harry’s chest until Harry grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. 

They wake up to Kate howling as soon as the sun comes up. 

÷


	20. Chapter 20

÷

Harry spends the rest of the weekend at Louis’ house, not bothering to go home at all until after dinner on Sunday, and only then because he needs to do laundry and water his plants. The entire drive home, he can’t stop smiling, and when he finally gets there, he pulls out his phone to text Louis and finds a string of texts from him, all saying in one way or another that he misses Harry already and he wants Harry to FaceTime him before bed. 

He makes himself finish his chores, then bundles up under the comforter on his bed, rolls onto his stomach, and FaceTimes Louis. 

Louis answers after a couple of rings, and the first thing that Harry sees is a blur of shadow as he adjusts his phone. His face comes into view and Harry sighs, slumping a bit to rest his chin in one hand, searching the background for clues as to Louis’ location. 

“Harold,” Louis says and then everything blurs again, settling on Kate, who’s standing in the grass on the side of the road. “Kate says hello.”

“Hi, Kate McKinnon!” Harry waves at the phone and blows kisses until Louis appears on his phone screen again. “Hi, Lou.”

“Normally she’s in bed already, but I think she’s missing you.”

“Yeah, what makes you think that?”

“I started getting ready for bed, picked her up like I do every night, but she started whining to get down again, so I set her on the floor. She sniffed around the bed, then went to the guest room, then dragged my hoodie out of the laundry pile—the black one you’ve been wearing—and took it to the front door where she sat and howled until I grabbed the leash and took her out.”

“Oh, no,” Harry says and bites his lip to stop from inviting himself back over to spend the night.

“It’s alright, she sees your van’s not here, so I think she figured it out. Hold on…” 

Louis picks up Kate and walks inside down the hall to the bedroom. The phone shifts again, and then Harry’s looking at Louis lying on his back on his pillow, with Kate’s nose right next to his ear. His heart flips and he wants to crawl through his phone. “You look comfy.”

“I’m not. I’m cold, for one thing, but also, um… I don’t know. I guess I’m comfortable enough.”

“I miss you. Know that’s stupid, ’cause we just saw each other, but I don’t care. I do. And I don’t even have Kate McKinnon to cuddle with.”

“You didn’t have to leave,” Louis whispers. “You can always stay over.”

“You keep saying stuff like that and I’m going to take you up on it.” Harry shakes his head thinking about how very little he’d get done if he really could always kiss Louis or always stay over at his house. 

They talk for almost an hour, about nothing really, but Harry doesn’t want to hang up, and it seems like Louis doesn’t want to either. When Harry can’t stop himself from yawning for the third time, Louis insists that they say goodbye, and they don’t speak again until the next morning at school.

They called the guys over the weekend, asking them to keep their relationship quiet at school. It’s bad enough knowing that they’ll have to deal with the entire neighborhood eventually catching on and being nosy, and they don’t want to feel like every move they make is being scrutinized at school too.

Harry arrives a little earlier than usual, pulling into the space beside Louis’ minivan before Louis has even opened his door, and he feels silly being so giddy about just seeing him again, but Louis looks just as happy, with a smile to rival Harry’s. They stand there on the sidewalk, grinning like loons, holding their travel mugs of coffee, swaying towards each other like magnets, until a loud, exaggerated cough pulls them out of their bubble.

“You guys are worse than Zayn and Niall with their little finger kiss high fives.” Liam rolls his eyes fondly and nudges Harry with his elbow when he frowns. “Don’t be mad. It’s cute. But if you’re hoping to keep the news from spreading, maybe less of whatever this is.” He circles his hand around Harry’s face. “It’s weird because you sort of look like a creepy frog, but it works for you.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Louis says when Harry’s frown morphs into a pout. And that’s enough to have him smiling again. “Harold here is a handsome, quirky frog.”

“Lou, oh my god.” Burying his face in the hand that isn’t holding his coffee, Harry tries to navigate between their parked cars to get to his things that are still in the back seat. There’s no way his face isn’t pink when even his chest feels warm. Harry pulls at the collar of his shirt, trying to cool himself down a bit, then he grabs his bag, and slides the door shut. 

When he turns around, Liam’s gone, and Louis looks worried, head tipped to the side, lip caught between his teeth. “Did I upset you?”

Rushing to shake his head, Harry knocks himself off-balance, and Louis’ hand on his shoulder steadies him. He shakes his head again and says, “No, not at all. Just— You called me handsome.”

“Well, you _are_ handsome. Gorgeous, really, but I— Harold!” Louis squats down to help Harry pick up all of his things that fell out of his bag when he dropped it while trying to cover his face again. At least he held onto his coffee. With his own bag over one shoulder, Louis lifts Harry’s bag and hands it back to him. “Your face turns pink every time I compliment you.”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t—”

“Stop apologizing. As if you can control it.” Louis reaches up and twirls one of Harry’s curls around his finger. “I’ll just have to do it all the time so you’ll get used to it.”

“Don’t want to get used to it. I like the way it feels, even if my face is pink. Just maybe not at school?”

Louis narrows his eyes and says, “We’ll see. Time to go be professional for a few hours. Are you busy after?”

Harry snorts and swats at Louis, but he jumps away. “No plans today. Probably leaving around four-thirtyish.”

“Come find me before you go?” Louis raises his eyebrows and backs towards the door, waiting for Harry’s nod before he opens it follows Harry inside.

Harry can’t keep the smile off of his face. He just feels so _good_ and it’s only been a few days. It’s bound to wear off eventually, the newness of it will fade and it’ll become routine. But for now he lets himself have it.

÷

Shortly before five, Harry locks up and walks through the storage room to Louis’ classroom. He stands in the doorway, watching the muscles shift under Louis’ shirt as he cleans the whiteboard. Louis looks incredible just standing still, but his bum bounces a little when he hops to get to the ink in the upper left corner, and Harry has to force himself to look away. 

He clears his throat and when Louis spins around, Harry lifts his hand, wiggles his fingers, and says, “Hi.”

“Hey, you coming to walk Kate today?” Louis picks up his bag, twirling his keyring on his finger. After Harry nods, he says, “Good. Wanted to talk.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll, um…” Harry steps out of the storage room completely. “I’ll see you there.”

After school, Harry hurries to walk Kate before Louis gets there, and afterwards he finds Louis in the bedroom, laying on his side on the bed, head propped up in one hand while he drums the fingers of the other hand against his hip. Louis pats the mattress, then points at Harry, then pats the mattress again. “Come on. Lie down.”

It’s not fair that Louis looks so comfortable under the blanket and Harry’s still wearing his school clothes, so he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, hesitates for a second, then pushes his trousers down, and climbs under the blanket in his briefs. 

“You alright, Harold?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “What’d you want to talk about?” He bites his lip without thinking and hisses because it’s sore.

Louis frowns and reaches over, rubbing his thumb along Harry’s lower lip. “Wish you wouldn’t do that. Looks like it hurts.”

“It does. I don’t normally do it this much though, I was just…” Harry takes a deep breath. “I was worried. About what you wanted to talk about.”

“Oh.” Louis’ eyebrows shoot up, but a second later he scowls, looking at Harry’s lip for a moment before leaning in to kiss it softly. “Nothing to worry about, Harold. Just thought we should, you know, talk about things, since— What was it you said? I told you I’m normally the peacemaker and—”

“I said I’ll ignore everything and pretend it’s fine.” Harry lets his head drop from where he’s been cradling it in his hand, folds his arm, and rests his cheek against his bicep. “Have I been—”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. We’ve only been together a few days. There’s nothing to ignore yet. Is there? Did I miss something?”

Harry tries to shrug, but it doesn’t really work. 

“Talkative.” Louis lightly shoves Harry’s shoulder. “I want to talk about us. Like, I know we sort of did, but I realized that I haven’t— I’ve been assuming some things, and I shouldn’t do that, so…”

“Oh, what, um, what do you mean?”

“Well, I like being your boyfriend. But I guess I wonder what that means to you exactly? I’m not… I want a lot. Like, with you and from you and I want—”

“I want that too. A lot, I mean, with you.”

Louis twists his mouth in the way that means he’s hiding a smile, so Harry reaches up and taps his finger against Louis’ lips. 

“Okay.” Louis brushes his hair off his forehead and hums, his eyes flicker from Harry’s to the bed between them and back up. “I’m just going to say it. I know it’s only like, day three, but barring any bizarre, unforeseen problems, I…” He breathes in deeply, his entire torso moving as he inhales and exhales. “I’m going to want, like, living together and marriage and babies and stuff with you, and like, I’m thirty-five, so I mean, not tomorrow, but not… I won’t want to wait for like, five years to get started.” 

As soon as he finishes speaking, he falls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a few seconds before pushing his hands against his eyes. He groans pitifully and Harry rushes to respond. “Yes? I mean, I can’t imagine what could happen to change this.” He leans forward to rest his hand over Louis’ heart, and when Louis drops his hands on top of Harry’s and open his eyes, Harry wants to be closer, so he climbs on top of Louis. “But I’m apparently not great at picking up on things. Like, you said you had feelings for me for a while, but I didn’t know? And I don’t know how that like, applies, unless I just need some time to get used to like, asking you about stuff instead of assuming or maybe reading you better? I don’t know.” Harry shrugs and pouts. “I feel like I didn’t say anything at all just now.”

Louis blinks up at him and smiles. “No, you did. In a very Harold manner. You said you want me for keeps.”

“Well, yeah. I thought that was understood.”

“How many kids do you want to have?”

“At least two. Maybe more. You?”

Louis winks and holds up three fingers. “Forty is my absolute maximum age for my first kid. Like, after Ethan, I thought a bit about adopting. Alone, you know? Looked into it.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers and he knows his voice sounds sad. It’s not a happy memory. “I did too.”

“Oh, Harry.” Louis skates his hands up Harry’s arms and pulls him down so that they’re chest to chest. He kisses the tip of Harry’s nose and scratches his scalp and Harry relaxes against him, tucking his face against Louis’ neck. 

Pressing his nose underneath Louis’ ear, Harry tries to sniff him without getting caught, but he can feel Louis smiling when he does it. He somehow pulls the comforter over top of them so that they’re wrapped completely. 

“I guess thirty-eight? That’s my maximum age for my first kid.” 

“That’s convenient.” Louis tries to move his head back, but Harry holds on tighter. 

“Not convenient. I’m two years younger than you, so it makes sense.”

“Harold. You can’t—” With both hands, Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, then pulls gently until Harry gives up and looks at him. “You have to have your own, like, _things._ You can’t just match what you want with what I want.”

“I’m not.” Harry sits up a little, frowning. “I always thought it’d be thirty-five, you know, before. And then, um, _after,_ I thought, well, forty’s a nice even number. But it wasn’t like, set in stone.”

“Really.” Louis raises one eyebrow and tilts his chin down and Harry wants to strangle him just a little bit. 

So he sits up the rest of the way, brings his hands to his hips, and says, “Fine. Thirty-seven.”

Louis snorts quietly and digs his fingers into Harry’s sides, tickling him until he collapses back down on top of him. 

“Don’t know why we’re talking babies when we haven’t had sex yet,” Harry mutters petulantly. It’s been days—this is the fourth consecutive day he’s ended up partially naked in Louis’ bed—and while he’s no expert on sex or dating, he _is_ horny. 

“That’s not how things work, Harold.” Louis sighs. “We should talk about that too.”

And they do. Sort of. It’s the first time Harry’s ever had a discussion like it, and he feels out of his depth. Louis asks him about kinks and he just shrugs because he’s not even sure if he has any. 

“Well, what do you like?” Louis asks with raised eyebrows.

Harry shrugs. “Sex?”

Louis snorts. “Yeah, me too. But like, do you have preferences?”

“Oh, um… Yeah, I guess. I like to, um…” Harry’s face heats again at the thought of Louis naked, their bodies tangled together. “I’m versatile? But like, usually prefer to bottom.”

Nodding, Louis says, “That works for me. What about… Are you okay with taking things slow?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers quickly, and while Louis taps his finger against his lips, clearly pondering his next question, Harry wonders why he lied. If it was his decision, they’d have done it already. 

“Do you wear lacy underwear often?”

“What?” Harry squawks and sits up fast, craning his head to try to look at his own ass to be sure he’s wearing his standard cotton briefs. He realizes what he’s doing and drops his chin to his chest, face flaming. 

“Don’t be mad?” Louis squints up at him. 

Harry scowls and clenches his jaw, embarrassed still, but angry too, and unsure why exactly, or how Louis _knows_ , so he crosses his arms over his chest and waits. 

“On New Year’s Eve you like, _insisted_ that I help you with your jeans. I tried to be a gentleman and—”

“Oh my god!” Harry slaps his hand to his mouth as the memory comes flooding back. All he remembered was Louis helping him with his shoes, but he can see it now, even if it’s a little fuzzy around the edges. _Insisted_ is a nice way of putting it because he’d whined until Louis agreed to help him take his pants off. 

Absolutely mortified, Harry covers his face completely and tries to blindly climb off of Louis while he repeats, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” 

But Louis holds onto his hips, firmly but not tightly, thumbs circling over and over. “Hey, don’t. Don't be upset. I just figured it was something you liked, and we’re talking about what we’re into. Plus, I thought it was hot, so…”

Finally, Harry uncovers his face, blinking a few times to focus. “You liked it?”

“I mean, yeah. I’ve worn them before. Satin feels nice. Lace, I actually don’t know. Maybe we can find out?” Louis winks and it’s so over the top that Harry can’t contain his giggles, curling his body against Louis’ again. 

“Hey, Lou?” Harry kisses the side of Louis’ neck. “When do you think we might do that?” He’s asking about Louis wearing something lace or satin for him, but he’s more interested in knowing when they’ll finally have sex. With or without lacy underwear. 

Louis hums and shrugs. “Christmas?”

“Christmas?”

“I don’t know. Seems festive.” Louis trails his hands down Harry’s back and up his sides. “I could wear red ones, you could wear green maybe?”

Harry groans and nods, his nose rubbing against Louis’ neck, while he tries to count the days until Christmas. It’s still early, but he’s hungry, and if he’s going to cook something for himself to eat, he needs to get home. There isn’t even any food in his refrigerator since he didn’t go shopping and spent the entire weekend at Louis’ house, so he tells Louis as much.

Louis’ fingernails scratch along his thighs and make him shiver. He squeezes lightly at the top of Harry’s legs and says, “You want to go out to dinner?”

“It’s a school night, Lou.”

“So. It’s only like, six o’clock. We can both drive and you can go home after.” Louis pats Harry’s hip and Harry sits up. When he looks down, Louis’ face is a bit pink, so Harry rubs his thumbs over Louis’ cheekbones, and the corners of his mouth slowly turn up into a small smile. “Go on a date with me, Harry Styles.”

÷

Locked in Louis’ bathroom, Harry leans forward, both hands planted firmly on the sink, and turns his head side to side to check the back of his hair. It’s a mess; he needs a trim. He sighs and turns on the faucet, splashing some cold water on his face. A date. On a Monday. With Louis. His boyfriend. And all Harry has to wear are the same clothes he wore to school all day. But when he opens the door, Louis is standing by the bed with a bundle of clothes in his hands.

“Want to borrow these?” Louis shakes out the sweatpants and Harry grabs them, but Louis doesn’t let go.

“Yeah.” Harry tugs on the pants and Louis loosens his grip, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Thanks, Lou.”

“Welcome, Harold.” 

Dressed in Louis’ hoodie, Harry pats the pocket to double check that his keys are there, and tries not to be nervous. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

Louis tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “You sure?”

Harry nods and bites his lip, but lets it go immediately because it’s still sore. He follows Louis outside and stops by his minivan, scratching his thumb under his chin. “Hey, Lou?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’ll follow you, okay?” Harry waits for Louis’ agreement before climbing behind the wheel. 

There’s no reason to be nervous, and yet, there’s no convincing his stomach otherwise. It’s only dinner at Chipotle, but his hands tremble while he carries their food and he has to tuck them under his thighs while he waits for Louis to bring their drinks. 

“Excellent table choice, Harold.” Louis sets their drinks on the table and pulls out the chair across from Harry to sit down. “So, this is a little boring for a first date, huh?”

A little laugh escapes through Harry’s nose. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always.” Louis takes a big bite of his burrito and gestures for Harry to go ahead.

Leaning across the table so that no one else is likely to hear, Harry whispers, “I haven’t been on a lot of dates.”

Louis manages to frown, even with a mouthful of burrito, then he swallows and takes a sip of his drink. “What do you mean? I know you guys were together for a long time, but those dates still count.”

“No,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “Like, we’d been roommates for a little while before we got together, and then… I don’t know. Studying and going out to the bar with our friends on Fridays.” 

And fuck, it’s not fun to think about, but medical school and Gabe’s residency were always excuses. They’d never really _dated._ Unless it was grabbing pizza at the place across from their dorm, or the one bar near campus surrounded by drunken college students. Not exactly romantic.

Harry had always assumed living together from the beginning was for the better. But thinking about saying it all out loud to Louis makes it all seem flimsier. “And after college, we were just busy, I guess.”

While Harry talked, Louis continued eating, so Harry takes a quick bite of his burrito instead of filling the silence. He looks away from Louis, and wonders what he must think of him. So boring and inexperienced. In every way.

Louis clears his throat and Harry’s eyes flicker over to him. “Are you busy this weekend?”

÷

On Friday evening, they hang out with Niall and Zayn and Liam. Then Louis invites Liam to stay in his guest room. 

Harry and Louis have officially been together for a week and they haven’t seen each other naked yet. Harry’d feel like a teenager if he wasn’t sure that, if he actually were a teenager, he’d be having sex already. 

Liam leaves after breakfast on Saturday morning, and before Harry can make any suggestions, Louis ushers him into the bathroom to shower. 

When Harry stumbles out, wrapped in a towel, surrounded by steam, Louis is nowhere to be found. The bag Harry packed sits on Louis’ freshly made bed, and as soon as he’s dressed, Louis peeks his head in the room. He leads him outside, and bundles Harry into the passenger seat. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, head whipping around at a shuffling noise from the back seat. “Kate McKinnon!” shifting in his seat, Harry reaches back to scratch the top of her head. “Are we going to the V-E-T?”

“No,” Louis answers, and Harry watches the corner of his mouth slowly work its way into a grin. “We’re taking her for a walk.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “We’re taking her for a walk in the car.”

Louis shakes his head. “You’ll see.” 

Even Harry’s exaggerated pout doesn't convince Louis to say anything else about it. Instead, he talks about the weather. Granted, Harry just likes listening to Louis talk, and when he talks about something with any kind of authority, which is how he tends to speak about anything science-related, it’s sort of hypnotizing. So even though Harry wants to pester him about their destination, he’s distracted by Louis telling him about their unusually dry winter and how spring’s starting out similarly. “So, the banks along the river aren’t as muddy as they usually are.” 

The van comes to a stop in a small parking lot. “Are you going to murder me in the woods?” 

“Not today,” Louis says, unbuckling Kate from her special seatbelt harness, and hooking her leash to her collar. He picks her up and sets her down on the ground, then grabs a backpack from the floor behind his seat, slinging it over his shoulders. “Let’s go, Kate McKinnon. You coming, Harold?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Harry hurries down a clearly marked path between the trees to catch up to them. When Harry falls into step beside Louis, he gives Harry the leash, takes his other hand and laces their fingers together, swinging their joined hands between them. 

The ground is uneven, with roots and decomposing leaves alternately tripping Harry up, but Louis holds tight to his hand. Emerging from the end of the path, Harry blinks in the brighter light, and smiles at Louis. 

Louis smiles back. “You’ll have to tell me if this is a better date than Chipotle.”

Harry nods. Every day on his way to work, he drives over the bridge in the distance, spanning the river that they’re standing beside. The banks are dry enough that Harry’s shoes don’t sink or slip, and the water level is low, so some of the larger rocks in the river are visible. They remind Harry of playing Frogger when he was a kid. “I’ve never been here.” 

“I figured,” Louis says, tugging on Harry’s hand and steering him along the worn path by the river. “Growing up, we used to come here all the time. A little bit farther down, there’s a bend in the river, and we’d go swimming. Once summer’s here, the parking lot will be packed. Haven’t been down here in ages.”

“Yeah? What made you think to come?”

“You.” Squeezing Harry’s hand, Louis glances over. “I actually learned to swim here.”

“Really? I’ve never been in a river before. Gemma and I took lessons at the YMCA pool when we were kids. Only went to the beach a handful of times during the four years when I lived close enough.” 

“The coast here is so different. We’ll have to go this summer. Rent a house or something with the boys or maybe just the two of us. We could make it an annual thing.” 

He says it so casually, that it takes Harry a moment to process Louis being so nonchalant about their future together, and when he does, his heart wants to float out of his chest like a helium balloon. “Yeah,” Harry says and his voice warbles, so he clears his throat and looks away, watching the water wash over the stones along the edge of the bank. 

Maybe Louis senses that Harry needs a moment, because they walk on silently, hand in hand, until they come to the riverbend, where Louis lets go of Harry’s hand and reaches down to unclip Kate’s leash from her collar. “She’ll be fine to wander around here. And she’s not fast enough to run off.” 

Louis tips his head towards one of the massive rocks on the bank, and walks over, climbing up, and turning around to offer Harry a hand to steady him as he joins Louis on the rock. They share a little picnic of sandwiches and fruit, and Kate finds a spot in the dry grass to lie down and roll around, her paws kicking up in the air while she makes little satisfied howls. They leave before it gets dark, in plenty of time to get back to Louis’ house, and for Harry to drive home, claiming that he misses his couches. 

It’s not a good idea to get into the habit of spending every weekend night at Louis’ place. 

÷

Even though it feels like it was just Christmas, the second week of April brings spring break and when Easter rolls around, Harry anticipates a shitty weekend. By Saturday afternoon, he starts to feel a little foolish for pre-freaking out about something that he isn’t sure he cares about anymore. The weekend’s been fine, he’s done his chores, and he keeps thinking about Louis’ offer to spend the weekend at Harry’s apartment, and how much more fun that would be.

Louis hasn’t texted, at Harry’s request. He’s lonely though, and knowing that Louis is likely worrying about him makes him feel horrible, but he still feels like he should be respecting this anniversary or something. Sunday evening, his phone rings, and Harry slides his finger across the screen before he registers the name. 

Even though he knows it’s Gabe, Harry says, “Hello?”

“Harry. Hi. It’s Gabe—” 

“Yeah, I know. What’s up?” Harry surprises himself with how short is tone is. 

“Oh, um, I… I met someone.” 

Harry frowns, confused and wondering what sort of reaction Gabe is looking for. It’s not like Gabe to be purposefully hurtful. “Okay?”

“No, I mean, I’m not like, calling to brag or anything. I just… He’s sort of pointed some things out to me. Like, about me. And I… I wanted to apologize. To you. I was pretty pissed off for a while, you know, about the divorce, and I, well, I… I’m not anymore. I never had the right to be, really, and he’s kind of helped me realize that? And I wanted to say I’m sorry because I was… I wasn’t a good husband to you.”

“Oh, um…” Harry trails off because Gabe starts talking again, but he can’t make himself give listening his full attention. There isn’t a single drop of jealousy over Gabe’s new relationship. It’s bizarre how little interest he has in what Gabe has to say, but when Gabe clears his throat, Harry tunes back in.

“Anyway, Harry, I hope you find someone you’re more compatible with, you know? Thanks for, um…” 

“Yeah. Okay. I’m, um… I’ll let you go. And can we not…”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Clean break. No contact after this. Sorry again.” 

“Right. Bye, Gabe.” Harry hangs up and locks his phone. Then he unlocks it and deletes Gabe’s contact information, wondering why he didn’t do it earlier. 

Harry slides his phone into his pocket, then pulls it back out again, staring at the last text from Louis Friday night that simply says, “Sleep well” followed by a selfie co-starring Kate McKinnon. As soon as it came in, Harry saved the picture as the home screen on his phone, leaving a solo picture of Kate as his lock screen. 

After spending most of the week with Louis, staying over at his house almost every night, Harry thought he’d be glad for the reprieve, because sleeping in the same bed as his super hot boyfriend who’s _not rushing things_ is tough, and at least he can masturbate at home. But instead, his mind is almost constantly on Louis, thinking about the dates they’ve been on since Chipotle and the river. 

The day they spent at the zoo feeding lettuce to the giraffes, the movie theater where they were the only people in the audience and wound up making out like teenagers until after the credits rolled, the long walks around the neighborhood, the days spent driving from antique shop to antique shop, bowling, and ping-pong, and their plans to go fly kites the following weekend. He feels like he’s reading off every item in the category of fun date ideas and wonders if maybe that’s what Louis did—searched online and compiled a list. 

The thought sends a surge of affection through him, so electric that he shivers. 

When the sun goes down, Harry’s unable to keep from FaceTiming Louis. Who answers immediately, laying on his side on his couch, with Kate McKinnon stretched out in front of him, room lit only by the television, which he pauses right after he says, “Harold.”

“I miss you.”

Louis presses his lips together and wrinkles his nose and Harry wants to reach through the phone and rub his thumb over the stubble on his cheek. “Miss you too.” 

They talk until Kate McKinnon asks to go outside, and when Louis blows him a kiss, Harry almost explodes from happiness, and hangs up as soon as he says goodbye. 

It takes him a few minutes to decide to jerk off, but he needs a clear head, and it’ll probably help. As soon as he comes, eyes shut tight to make it easier to imagine Louis stroking him quick and sure, tugging his balls, and working him through his orgasm while his body trembles. 

He cleans up and goes to bed, already knowing what he has to do. Because he can’t lose Louis, so he has to be able to talk to him. They’re so good together in every other way but one, and he needs to know if it’s just him, and if what he wants physically is even feasible. 

÷


	21. Chapter 21

÷

All week Harry’s hardly been able to think of anything other than the possible outcomes of having this conversation with Louis. And he’s thought long and hard about it too. He’s pretty sure that Louis does like sex and that he’d prefer an active sex life, but those are all assumptions based on the times they’ve talked about it. Maybe he’s wrong. Or maybe Louis just isn’t sexually attracted to _him._ It’s literally the last thing he wants to spend his Friday evening talking about, but he has to. 

During his planning period with Liam, Harry makes a special request that they turn off the lights, lock the door, and lie down on the floor behind Liam’s desk. It takes him most of the hour to gather the courage just to ask Liam not to accept any forthcoming offers from Louis to stay over, and he’s not expecting it at all when Liam tells him it’s about time. 

“You know, it’s strange. In some ways, you two are so alike, and it’s amazing. Like, your senses of humor and your goals and things, but I can tell you guys have been tiptoeing around each other, um… sexually. The tension, man. Please, please, do something about it.”

Harry kicks at him, but he doesn’t try too hard to make contact.

Liam easily dodges Harry’s foot. “Last time we hung out, you guys were like, eye fucking the whole night. Zayn pulled Sara’s hat down so she couldn’t see.” 

“Oh my god.” Harry covers his face with his hands. “Shut up.”

The fact that their friends have picked up on it, that they know something is going on, makes it more daunting to face, but he’s determined. 

Someone in Louis’ last chemistry class sets off a stink bomb, forcing their entire section of the school to first evacuate outside, and then to the auditorium, where the students wait while the teachers all go back to open all of the windows and air everything out. 

The odor follows Louis, though, and he insists that Harry walk Kate alone that evening so that he can shower and throw his smelly clothes in the wash. 

The solitude of the walk just seals it for Harry. He loves Kate and he loves… Well, that’s ridiculous. It’s far too soon for that sort of declaration, but he loves his life right now. Every single part of it. Except this. And he promised he’d be more open. Promised to talk to Louis if he was ever feeling unsure about things between them. And this definitely qualifies. 

Once he decides that they’ve been out long enough, Harry leads Kate back home, carrying her inside, and setting her down to remove her leash, but instantly getting distracted and forgetting because Louis is standing there in the kitchen with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Hey, sorry. Was just grabbing some sweatpants out of the dryer. Give me a sec—”

“No, can you… um… Louis?” Harry slowly crosses the living room, keeping his eyes locked on Louis’, afraid that looking anywhere else will just confuse him, and Louis waits there watching him apprehensively. “I need to tell you something. Or ask you? I’m not sure, um… I just… Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

His words seem to catch Louis off guard and he blinks rapidly, mouth slightly open for a few seconds before he says, “I thought we were taking things slowly. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No? What gave you that idea?”

Louis frowns. “I thought we’d talked about it. Like, not rushing it, you know? I didn’t want to push it.”

“Yeah, but that was weeks ago. Today’s, um, actually four weeks. We’ve been together almost a month and I— I have— _Before,”_ Harry says, the emphasis hopefully saying what he’s not. “I always sort of felt like, um… like, I know I always wanted it more—” Harry huffs and crosses his arms. “So maybe I have a higher sex drive, than… normal?” Louis opens his mouth and Harry rushes to get the rest of it out. “But it’s not just that. I feel like I’ve been sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? I can’t tell if you’re not attracted to me or if you just don’t... like me like that or what, but I need—”

“Oh my god, no, baby, no.” Louis shakes his head and steps in close, reaching up to cup Harry’s face in his hands, gaze holding steady despite the worry lines between his eyebrows. “No, it’s nothing like that. Nothing. I was being stupid. I just… I’m nervous. You’ve only ever been with one person before, and I want it to be special.” Harry’s heart leaps and he can’t contain his smile as Louis continues, “Perfect. I want to spend hours and hours learning your body and touching you. I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want you. I want you every way.” 

“You do?”

“Yes, god, I’m sor—” 

Harry kisses him before he can apologize again, hands going to Louis’ waist and sliding up his sides, around to his chest. Pushing against him and knocking Louis backwards into the countertop, Harry drops his hands back to Louis’ waist and lifts him up onto the kitchen counter, fitting in between his legs and holding him close while he kisses over the bare skin of his shoulder and up his neck. Louis shivers when Harry nips at his ear and tilts his head to the side, allowing Harry to kiss and bite along his jaw, and when his beard scratches Harry’s lips, he nuzzles into it. 

“What do you want?” Harry murmurs against the hollow of Louis’ throat.

“Anything. Don’t care. What do you want? Fuck, I’m sorry I—”

“Shut up,” Harry growls, wrapping Louis’ legs around his waist and kneading at the muscles of his thighs before slipping his hands underneath Louis’ towel and groaning at the feeling of Louis’ ass in his hands. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare. I swear to you, Harold, if you apologize for sex noises, I will murder you.”

Harry nods, pushing the echo of Gabe’s judgement away, and focusing on how good it feels to work over Louis’ neck, licking and sucking at his clean skin while cupping his hands on Louis’ bum. Which he’d really like to see. So he slides his hands down under Louis’ thighs and picks him up, stumbling through the house with Louis in his arms, trying to walk and carry him and kiss him at the same time. 

They’re almost to the bedroom when Harry hears a little whine from below and he freezes in place. Looking down to find Kate sitting there in the guest bedroom doorway, leash still attached to her collar, he carefully sets Louis down and bends over to unhook her. As soon as he does, she turns and heads for her crate, circling a few times before lying down and closing her eyes. 

He turns in time to witness his completely naked boyfriend swaying his hips just before he disappears into the bedroom, and Harry hurries after him, finding Louis waiting on his bed. 

Harry stops just inside the door, trying to take it all in, eyes traveling slowly up Louis’ legs, catching on his cock, and suddenly he’s overcome with the desire to touch, to have it in his hands or his mouth or his ass or anywhere really. 

Louis laughs and the sound is bright and happy and it brings Harry out of his stupor. 

“Take off your clothes, you ridiculous man.” Louis rolls his eyes, reaching down to cup himself, and Harry gets lost again, watching the slow movements of Louis’ hands stroking his cock and rubbing his thigh. “Harold!”

Harry’s eyes snap up to Louis’ face and he clambers onto the bed fully clothed, shoes still on his feet because he’s been distracted by Louis’ body from the second he walked into the house. He presses kisses to each of Louis’ knees, debating for a second on whether or not to suck him off before he’s practically being yanked up the bed by his hair. 

The air rushes out of him when he lands completely on top of Louis, touching from head to toe, except that Harry’s still dressed. 

With his hands on Harry’s neck, Louis pulls him down, kissing him sloppily, and bucking his hips up, making Harry groan.

“Fuck. Got to get undressed,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ mouth. Harry’s uncomfortably hard in his pants, but he doesn’t make any effort to actually move off of Louis, distracted by kissing him again. 

Louis tugs at Harry’s jeans, but they don’t budge, and he must lose patience because he smacks Harry’s ass and says, “Take your fucking clothes off.” Louis pushes at Harry’s shoulder until he listens and stands up at the foot of the bed. 

His t-shirt is gone in half a second, jeans and briefs around his knees right after that, and they’re still part way on one leg and dangling from his other foot when he climbs back onto the bed, finally kicking his shoes off and managing to get his pants off while crawling over top of Louis. 

There’s no way for him to decide where to look so he tries to look everywhere at once. Louis’ face is flushed a pretty pink and his lips are swollen, and Harry did that to him. He bites his lip, watching Louis’ chest and stomach move with each breath, gaze traveling up to Louis’ arms where they’re laying on the pillow, hands above his head. Harry follows the line of his arms back down, until his chin is to his chest, watching the space between them shrink as Louis wraps his legs around him, pulling Harry down. With his mouth pressed to Louis’ cheek he groans when their hips meet, trapping their erections, and the warm skin of Louis’ stomach touching him there has him trembling. 

“Want your cock,” Louis says, lips dragging over Harry’s cheek. 

“Yes, yes, fuck yes.” Harry nods rapidly, circling his hips to feel the drag of Louis’ skin against his dick, and whimpering at the prospect of fucking Louis. He pushes his hands into the mattress, raising up enough to look down at Louis. “What do you— How do you like it?”

“Well…” Louis moves his hand from Harry’s back, sliding it between their bodies, and wrapping it around Harry’s dick, pulling a sharp gasp from Harry, and slowly stroking him. “You’re not small, Harold. So… Lots of lube and lots of fingers.” He gives Harry a squeeze and raises his eyebrows and Harry nods jerkily.

“Okay, okay. Yeah… lube and condoms?” Harry asks and Louis points to the bedside table. Harry crawls sideways to pull open the drawer, grinning so big that his eyes close when he sees a very clean and organized drawer, a brand new box of condoms, and three unopened bottles of lube. He grabs everything he needs and sits up, straddling Louis’ hips, and dropping the condom and lube onto the mattress, before lowering himself back down to kiss Louis again. 

The scruff on Louis jawline tickles Harry’s lips as he kisses his way to his ear, down his neck, murmuring into the skin of his shoulder, “Can’t believe I get to do this.” 

Lightly, Harry trails kisses over Louis’ collarbone, down his chest, flicking his tongue over Louis’ nipple, and glancing up to find Louis already looking back at him. Louis combs his fingers through Harry’s curls, tugging at the back and guiding Harry’s head back down to his nipple. 

Softly, Harry kisses it and licks it, sucking it between his lips and running the tip of his tongue over it until Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s hair making him suck harder and bite down gently. He rubs his thumb over Louis’ other nipple, pinching it until it’s hard, then switches sides. Louis whimpers and his cock twitches, nudging against Harry’s stomach and Harry drags his teeth over Louis’ nipple one more time before sitting up and parting Louis’ legs with his knee. 

With his legs bent, Louis makes room for him, and Harry has to stop, acutely aware of what’s about to happen. Smiling so big that he knows his dimples can’t get any deeper, Harry leans over and falls forward. He catches himself with one hand beside Louis’ head, and cradles Louis’ jaw with the other, tenderly taking Louis’ lower lip between his own, before letting it go and opening his eyes. 

The usual bright blue of Louis’ eyes seems darker when he blinks and for a few seconds, Harry thinks he could be hypnotized by Louis’ eyelashes, but then Louis smiles up at him, the crinkles by his eyes deepen, and Harry is suddenly so full of absolute joy that it’s like a shot of adrenaline. 

He matches Louis’ smile, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, then sits back, resting his hands on Louis’ knees and sliding them over his thighs. Crawling back a little more allows Harry to easily kiss the inside of Louis’ knee, down his inner thigh, nosing at the thicker hair the closer he gets to the base of Louis’ cock. 

“Want to suck you,” Harry says, and licks up the underside of Louis’ dick.

Louis groans loudly and pulls Harry off by his hair when he sucks the head into his mouth. “Not today, baby.”

A thrill shoots through him when Louis calls him that. Still, he pouts and pushes himself up to sit back. Harry tilts his head and says, “Turn over then.”

On his stomach, with a pillow under his hips, resting his temple on his folded arms is how Louis should just _be._ All the time. 

He spreads Louis’ legs apart, running his palms up Louis’ calves. Moving them higher, he cups the backs of Louis’ thighs, pushing his thumbs into the muscle just under Louis’ ass, dragging them apart. Louis’ words from before echo in Harry’s head, and suddenly he wants this to be special and perfect too, even though they’ve got the rest of their lives to improve. 

Harry searches his memory for every conversation they’ve ever had and he doesn’t remember, and braces himself because he has to ask. “Rimming. Did we talk about rimming?” 

“No? We didn’t, but um, yes to rimming. Both ways. Yeah?”

“Oh my god, okay.” Harry palms Louis’ cheeks, digging his fingertips in and spreading them. Until that very second, he hadn’t really considered the possibility that he might actually be awful at it, when a memory flashes behind his eyes, of the refusal the last time he asked to do this. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry focuses on the smooth skin of Louis’ back, and the muscles as they move underneath when Louis shifts his upper body, looking around at Harry and smirking. “I’ve seen you eat, Harold. It’s obscene. And I’d like you to get on with it.” 

He wiggles his bum and Harry breathes out a laugh. Feeling lighter, Harry lowers himself down between Louis’ legs, spreading his cheeks apart with one hand, and dragging his dry thumb over Louis’ rim. Leaning in, he replaces his thumb with his tongue, tasting him under the lingering smell of his soap. 

Louis grunts when Harry licks him and pulls gently at either side of his rim with his thumbs. His hips buck and Harry has to get inside him as soon as possible. Backing up slightly, he flicks his tongue against Louis’ skin, smiling at the quiet whine from Louis’ throat. He presses a kiss there before licking him messily, trying to loosen him enough with his mouth to get his tongue inside. 

With a groan, Louis shifts back and Harry pushes the tip of his tongue inside, burying his face between Louis’ cheeks while he blindly feels around on the mattress for the lube, pulling back and licking Louis from behind his balls to the bottom of his spine. Sitting up a little to pour some lube over his fingers, Harry hopes that lying on his front, Louis can’t tell that his hands are shaking when he rubs the pad of his index finger in circles, pushing inside cautiously. 

Snapping his mouth closed when he notices it’s hanging open, Harry stares as his finger steadily slides inside, breath hitching at the drag when he starts to pull it back. It would be unfair if he couldn’t get his mouth in there too, so with his free hand he holds Louis open as well as he can and licks around his finger, humming against his skin when Louis whines and lifts his hips, forcing Harry’s mouth closer. 

Twisting his finger, he pumps it in and out, half-heartedly searching for Louis’ prostate while he sucks around his rim. The next time his knuckles meet Louis’ ass, he lifts up to meet them, and when Harry pulls back, he stills for a second, then pushes back in with two fingers, reaching down to stroke himself a few times. 

With two fingers buried deep inside him, Harry finds Louis’ spot, brushing the pads of his fingers over it and watching Louis’ entire body quiver. Louis ruts against the pillow while Harry fucks his fingers inside, avoiding his prostate, until Louis twists his hips and hits it himself. He clenches down on Harry’s fingers and Harry gasps and as soon as Louis relaxes around him, he pulls his fingers free. “Lou? Will you get on your hands and knees?”

Almost before he gets the words out, Louis is up on his hands and knees, looking back at him, and watching while Harry drizzles more lube over his fingers, pushing two back inside immediately, pulling them out and adding more lube. Alternating scissoring his fingers and twisting his wrist for a moment before pushing his ring finger alongside the other two, Harry stops when they’re all the way in to let Louis adjust and to trace his thumb over the edge of his rim where it’s stretched around his fingers. 

He’s barely begun to move his hand when Louis starts riding it, short grunts escaping him every time he circles his hips. Dropping his head down, Louis hums happily and says, “Come on, baby. Fuck me.”

So far it’s every fantasy he’s ever had rolled into one and he’s not inside Louis yet. Harry looks down at his neglected cock and squeezes his fingers around the base for a moment, then grabs for the condom, ripping it open and rolling it on between stolen glances at Louis’ ass and his back and his legs and his arms and his face when he turns his head to meet Harry’s eyes, lower lip caught between his sharp teeth. It almost knocks the wind out of him. 

He holds his breath, left hand pulling at Louis’ left cheek while he rubs the head of his dick up and down over Louis’ rim using slightly more pressure each time, until it catches and they both push towards each other, stopping when Harry’s dick pops past the tight ring of muscle. 

“Fuck, Lou, I…” Harry tears his gaze away to search out Louis’ face, but he’s looking down at the bed. “Fuck.” It’s as if every nerve ending in his entire body is concentrated where Louis is tight around him. The soft skin of Louis’ balls surprises Harry when they meet his own and he drops his head down, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath. 

After a moment, Louis starts to hitch his hips back, and Harry grips them tightly in his hands, thrusting in and out slowly so that he doesn’t come too soon. 

Harry slides his hands up Louis’ back, holding his shoulders, then drops one hand back to his hip, gripping tightly as he thrusts steadily. But then he falters and slows down until he’s hardly moving. “Will you turn over?”

Before Harry has the chance to say please, Louis is on his back, stuffing the pillow under his own hips. His face is flushed and his hair is a mess and he’s so beautiful and bright, Harry’s nervous just looking at him. So softly that Harry almost doesn’t hear his voice catch, Louis says, “Hey, baby.”

Harry falls forward between Louis’ knees, catching himself with his hands on either side of Louis’ shoulders, and drops down to kiss him, freezing a few inches away when he remembers what he was just doing. “Oh, sorry, I—”

Louis raises up, meeting Harry’s lips with a bruising kiss while his hands roam over Harry’s back, and down. When Louis squeezes his ass, Harry reaches down and lines the head of his dick up, pushing inside and fucking Louis slow and steady, going deep and grinding circles with his hips when he gets overwhelmed. 

It’s unlikely that he’s able to get everything he’s feeling across—how thankful he is for Louis, how happy he is to be with him, how much he just enjoys the simplest things because he gets to do them with Louis by his side, and how he wants to keep doing them for the rest of his life. He’s sure he’s failing miserably. 

Harry pulls back, blinking his eyes open, and gasps quietly when he sees the tears pooling in Louis’ eyes. Louis presses his lips together, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and blatantly lies, “Allergies.” 

A rough, short laugh bursts out of Harry. And then he can’t stop another one from sputtering out from behind his closed lips. Louis snorts and giggles, trying to cover it with his hand. 

“Didn’t mean to laugh. Sor—”

“Do _not_ apologize while you’re inside me.” Louis sounds so serious, but then another giggle overtakes him and he wraps his legs tighter around Harry, forcing him farther inside. 

Harry groans but he can’t stop smiling even as he feels himself tearing up too. Burying his face against Louis’ neck, Harry starts to fuck him harder, slipping one hand back to Louis’ ass, thumbing at Louis’ crack whenever he pulls back. Louis gasps, weaving his fingers through Harry’s hair, whispering against Harry’s cheek, beard and mustache tickling him and making Harry twitch. “God, you can fuck.”

Snapping his hips faster, Harry slides his arms under Louis’ back, reaching for his shoulders and gripping them tightly from behind, holding Louis in place while he thrusts in harder, Louis’ dick trapped between them. He sinks his teeth into Louis’ shoulder, then kisses the mark, pushing himself up and balancing on his left forearm while reaching his right hand down. 

Hard and thick in his hand, Harry strokes him, shifting his hips until he’s hitting Louis’ prostate, he fucks Louis and jerks him off at the same speed in an opposite rhythm.

Mouthing along Louis’ collarbone because it’s as close as he can get to kissing him right now, Harry chokes on his spit when Louis comes, body tightening around his cock, spilling over his hand and between his fingers onto Louis’ stomach. Harry works him through it and then pushes both hands into the mattress, holding himself above Louis while he dicks in fast and deep, coming a moment later, arms shaking as he lowers himself down and carefully slips out of Louis, whining quietly against his chest. 

After taking a few minutes to catch his breath, Harry stumbles to the bathroom to clean himself up, and is about to wet a cloth for Louis when he comes through the door, wraps his arms around Harry’s middle and rests his forehead between Harry’s shoulder blades. He presses a kiss to Harry’s back and says, “Shower with me?”

Harry nods, and they brush their teeth while they wait for the water to warm up. Kissing leisurely, they wash each other, and Louis lets Harry finger him under the pretense of cleaning him. They barely dry off, damp skin slipping against damp skin when they crawl beneath the comforter. 

“It’s early still,” Harry says and then laughs when he yawns immediately afterwards. 

“Haven’t had dinner.” Louis lifts Harry’s hand and kisses his knuckles one at a time. “We’re supposed to hang out with the boys.” 

Harry takes his hand back, flipping Louis’ wrist and kissing the palm of his hand. “I don’t think they’re expecting us to show. Apparently we’ve been really obvious.”

“Yeah? Well, then what would you like to do with the rest of the evening?” Louis reaches up and tucks a curl behind Harry’s ear and it’s falls right back down again. 

With a snort, Harry says, “You.” 

“Ambitious.” Louis raises his eyebrows. “You’ll have to feed me if you want to go again.”

Harry nods, grinning and leaning in, catching Louis’ lips in a kiss that quickly turns dirty, until Louis rolls him over and presses him down into the mattress, then makes him get up and put on his underwear, before leading him out to the kitchen. 

They manage to get the oven preheated, the lasagne in, and the timer set, and then Harry has Louis up on the countertop again, kissing him sweetly this time before pouring him a glass of wine and offering to rim him again later if Louis will fuck him too. It’s all talk because as soon as they finish eating, Harry wants to do nothing but curl up on the couch with Louis and watch a movie. He’s too full and too worn out from earlier to move. 

After the first movie, Harry takes Kate McKinnon outside, listening for any noise coming from their friends up the road, but hearing nothing. When they go back inside, Kate goes to her bed in the corner of Louis’ room, and they follow her, watching a second movie on Louis’ laptop, snuggled up in bed. Harry is just starting to doze off when he hears Kate McKinnon whine at the side of the bed, so he climbs out and picks her up, settling back in bed with her behind him and his cheek resting on Louis’ chest. 

They spend all weekend at Louis’ house, and most of it naked in his bed. 

Harry sets a goal of touching every part of Louis and by Sunday night, he reaches it multiple times over. When he goes home it’s because he refuses to wear the same clothes to school on Monday that he wore on Friday. 

When he leaves for work Monday morning, there’s an extra bag in the backseat. As soon as he walks into Louis’ house that evening, Louis asks what’s in the bag, and when Harry tells him it’s some clothes he’s hoping to keep there ‘just in case’, Louis crowds him up against the front door, kissing him and knocking their heads together. 

They laugh and Louis kisses his forehead, so Harry does the same, and then Louis pops the button on Harry’s pants, sinking to the floor with them and sucking him off right there in the living room. 

÷


	22. Chapter 22

÷

“When does school start?” Louis asks, glancing over at Harry, taking his hand in his and looking back at the road. He lifts their linked fingers and kisses Harry’s knuckles. 

Harry’s eyes follow their hands as Louis lowers them onto his armrest. “You’re so sweet to me; I feel like I can’t be a smartass and say ‘school starts again in August.’”

Squeezing Harry’s hand, Louis says, “I meant for your masters.”

“Oh, in June. Like, right after we finish. I start the next week.” Harry scratches the nails of his other hand over the denim covering his thighs. “Sorry I won’t have much time off.”

“Harold, don’t make me push you out of the car.” Louis releases Harry’s fingers and slides his hand onto Harry’s upper thigh, pinky finger brushing Harry’s dick through his jeans before inching down. “I was just wondering. And you can always study at my house. Lock yourself in the bedroom, I don’t care.”

“It’s going to be so strange. I haven’t taken a class in like ten years.” 

“You’ll do well. You adapt to new situations quickly, I think.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve worked with different ages, taught other subjects, you’re smart and capable. Why not?”

To hide his smile, Harry looks away out the window while Louis pulls into the driveway of a house. The neighborhood is closer to the school and to Harry’s apartment. “You’re too nice to me.” 

“And you’re ridiculous. I’ll be _nice to you_ whenever I want, which is all the time, so get used to it.” Louis turns off the car and jingles his keys before opening the door. “Come on, sunshine, let’s go.” 

Smiling even wider, Harry climbs out and falls into step beside Louis on the walkway to the front door. It’s a nice house in an even nicer neighborhood. Wide paved streets and sidewalks, manicured lawns and flower beds. Harry feels underdressed. 

A real estate agent waits at the door with a smile to show them the house. When she leads them inside, Harry stays close to Louis, following them both through the enormous house: living room, kitchen, den, office, dining room, bathroom, and then upstairs where she leaves them at the top of the stairs, points to the door closest to the stairs and says, “Four bedrooms, two bathrooms on this level. Master suite is there.” 

With his hands in his pockets, Louis wanders over to the farthest door and opens it. It’s a bedroom with a closet, and the next two doors are the same. The third one opens to a large full bathroom. 

“This place is huge, Lou. It’s for rent?”

“The first year. Then they said they’ll give me the option to buy.”

“It’s so big though.”

Louis shrugs and opens the master bedroom door. Maybe it’s the lack of furniture, but the room is cavernous and Harry’s entire apartment could probably fit inside. The bathroom is large too, but he’s pretty much only commented on the size of the house, so he searches for something else to say. “There’s no tub.” 

When Louis chuckles quietly behind him, Harry turns around. Louis says, “Yeah, it’s sort of like a steam room in the shower. Look.” He steps back so that Harry can peek and it _is_ like a steam room, with tile everywhere and a large bench along the back. 

“This place is like, super nice.” Harry walks to the bay window on the far side of the room and slides open the custom blinds. “I feel like I can’t even afford to look at it.”

“There’s a two-bedroom apartment on the list that’s more expensive.” Louis nods his head towards the bedroom door and walks to it, going straight down the stairs, and Harry wonders if he said something wrong.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean— It’s a nice house. And I know it’s not… It’s not _my_ place, but it’s so far from our friends.” Harry steps down from the last stair and walks to the front door behind Louis, grabbing his wrist and spinning him around so they’re face to face. He puts his other hand on Louis’ waist, sliding it around to the small of his back and pulling him. “I like being able to walk home from Zayn and Niall’s. Wouldn’t want to have to take a cab or drive or stay at their house.” 

Louis lifts his chin and takes Harry’s lips in a slow, soft kiss. “Okay.” He runs his knuckles down the front of Harry’s shirt, stopping at the waistband of Harry’s jeans. “It’s good to know what you like.”

The next place is a second floor apartment and halfway up the stairs, Harry says, “Kate would hate these stairs.” 

“You’re right.” Louis stops and turns around so suddenly, that Harry jerks back. Louis points and circles his finger, so Harry spins around and walks back downstairs. 

After that, Louis narrows his list drastically to the one house currently for rent in his neighborhood. It’s similar to Louis’ house, but bigger and a little bit newer, but there’s already someone else looking at the house and if he wants it he has to fill out the application to rent it immediately and he says no. 

“Too much pressure. Don’t like it enough.” 

“Fizzy’s going to end up with you as a roommate.” Harry teases when they get back in the van to leave the last house. 

“Maybe I’ll come sleep on your blue couch.”

Louis’ words remind Harry of his fantasy from weeks before and he lifts his hand to his mouth, pinching and pulling on his lower lip before launching into an explanation detailing everything that led up to it. From masturbating in the first place as a way to stop thinking about Louis to GIFs of Ryan Gosling, to Louis fucking him over the back of his blue couch, first with a dildo, then with his cock. Which, Harry adds thoughtfully, just as Louis pulls into his own driveway, is better in reality.

They barely make it inside the house before Louis is rutting against Harry’s hip, promising to do everything that Harry just said later, if he’ll let Louis ride him into the living room rug first. 

÷

It’s a few days later at school that Zayn mentions Ramadan and Harry checks the date, realizing that Gabe’s birthday passed without him noticing. At first he feels guilty, then he brushes it off, hurrying to Liam’s classroom to talk about the upcoming testing. Or not talk about it, as is usually the case.

“Louis said he thinks he found a house?” 

“Yeah, we went and looked at one a few streets over. It’s all one level, which is good for Kate, and it’s nice. Like, refinished floors and a new kitchen.” Harry loved it the second he saw it. It’s on the last street in the neighborhood and backs up to a wooded lot, has a garage and an attic and lots of windows, but it’s occupied. The people who live there aren’t moving until the end of June, which puts Louis in a bit of time crunch, but he seems to really want the house. 

“What about you, man? Your lease is up soon, isn’t it?”

“End of July, yeah, but I’m going to renew it.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Harry shakes his head and laughs. “I feel like I just moved those couches in. And the dresser! I’m not moving it unless I have to.”

“Makes sense,” Liam says. “I’m the same way. I don’t see me moving out of my place unless I’m moving in with someone else.” 

“What?”

“I mean, you’re looking at houses with Louis, you have to be thinking about that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s like, hypothetical. You know?”

Liam sputters a laugh and says, “No. And I don’t think Louis does. To be honest, I was expecting you to move in to this new house with him.” 

Blinking up at the ceiling behind Liam’s desk, Harry presses his fist to his mouth and hums. He spends the rest of the afternoon with his mind half on Louis, and has to leave school earlier than usual because without the buffer of the students there, he’s worried that Louis will come into his room and Harry’ll just blurt out, “Do you want me to live with you?” 

He drives to Louis’ house and takes Kate for a walk, but it only gives him something different to do while he thinks about Louis. By the time Louis pulls up at his house, Kate’s asleep on the couch with her head in Harry’s lap. 

“Hey, baby, what’s going on?” Louis kicks his shoes off and sits down on the couch beside Kate. “I didn’t see you leave school. Are you sick?”

“No,” Harry huffs. “Liam said something that’s been on my mind all afternoon. He expects me to move in with you this summer.”

“Really? He just said that?”

“Well, not just that. We were talking about our apartments and—” 

“You should,” Louis says and Harry’s eyes go wide. “You should move in with me.”

“I… We’ve only been together for like two months. Were not supposed to be moving in together.” 

Louis laughs and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you working on a schedule?” When Harry finds himself unable to do anything other than shake his head, Louis says, “Look, Harold. I don’t think that say, fifteen years ago, I would’ve ever even imagined you. And I didn’t expect you. You’re so much—” He rubs his index finger under his lower lip and takes a deep breath, rushing the rest of his words out, “And if you want to wait, it’s fine. It really is. If you renew your lease, I’ll be glad I don’t have to move that dresser, but you could decide you want to live with me tomorrow and I’d be there with boxes and everyone I know to help pack and move you in.”

“You want to live with me.” 

Louis scoffs and leans up, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulls a piece of paper out of it and shakes it to unfold it. “I want to do everything with you. I told you. First item on my list is to marold Harold— I mean, marry Harold. Jesus.” He drops the paper in Harry’s lap and stands up, walks into the kitchen, rummages through his junk drawer, and returns with a pen, handing it to Harry as he drops back onto the couch. “You might as well write ‘with Harry’ after everything there.”

Kate lifts her head from Harry’s lap and looks at Louis. She shifts around for a few seconds, then sort of slides onto the floor on her front paws, stretching with her back feet still on the couch, and slowly steps down and shuffles out of the room. 

With a pen in one hand and Louis’ list in the other, Harry sits there staring at him, mouth hanging open because he wants to say _something._ Like maybe point out the fact that Louis just sort of asked Harry to marry him, or that he’s apparently wanted to marry him since before they started dating. Or that he definitely asked Harry to move in with him. Or that they haven’t even said they love each other yet. Or that Louis said _marold Harold—_ which he _has_ to make fun of. Or that they’ve only been dating for a couple of months. But Harry already said _that,_ and Louis doesn’t seem to think it matters.

What comes out when Harry finally speaks is, “I love you.”

“What?” Louis’ voice wavers and he lifts his hand halfway to his mouth.

“I— I love you. I do. So much it scares me, to be honest. You’re—” Harry gasps when Louis tackles him, and falls backwards on the couch with Louis on top of him, the rest of his thought cut off by Louis’ mouth. 

Harry grunts and wrests his arms from between their chests and grabs Louis’ bum with both hands, squeezing it and wrapping his legs around the back of his thighs and pulling him closer. Louis presses frantic kisses to Harry’s lips, over his cheekbone to his ear, biting the spot beneath it where he usually just sucks gently, making Harry moan. 

Determined to finish what he was saying, Harry croaks out, “I’m so happy whenever I’m with you— Even when I’m not with you, I’m happy just knowing you exist. And I—”

“Shut up.” Louis shifts forward, lifting his upper body off of Harry to look down at him. “I love you too.”

Chest about to explode because his heart is so full, Harry smiles up at him, and says, “Thank you for being so wonderful.”

“Harold…”

“What? I can thank you for that.”

“Harold.”

“And wow, this is all happening out of order.”

“Out of order?” 

“Yeah, like, this is a completely… inappropriate sequence of events.”

“Inappropriate sequence of events?”

“First, you ask me to move in with you, then you say you want to marry me, and I tell you I love you, and… It’s all wrong.”

“It’s all…” Louis frowns and little lines appear on his forehead, but then he rolls his eyes fondly and says, “Harold. Things don’t have to happen the way you think they should. Or even the way you want them too. It’s not _wrong._ It’s just what works for us. And besides, this all happened at the same time, so…”

“I love you.” Harry tips his chin up and purses his lips, asking for a kiss, which Louis promptly gives him, then he settles back down and says, “I can’t believe you love me. It’s unreal.”

“Baby,” Louis whispers and leans forward, resting his forehead against Harry’s. He rubs the tips of their noses together and says, “You’re unreal. So good and kind and somehow even more beautiful on the inside than you are on the outside, which seems impossible since you’re gorgeous, but here you are.”

“Stop.” Harry presses his fingertips to Louis’ lips, but he can feel the blush rising on his cheeks, and his eyes are watery no matter how often he blinks.

“Can’t stop.” Louis shrugs one shoulder, pushing himself up and back until he’s sitting on the couch between Harry’s legs. He slides one hand under the hem of Harry’s pants, tracing the tips of his fingers over his calf, and his gaze slowly travels up Harry’s body. When their eyes meet, Louis says, “I still get to propose to you one day. And marry you. And I’ll have time to plan what I want to say, so you’ll probably turn twice as pink as you are now.”

Harry props himself up on his elbows and tries to sit up. “You’ll make me cry, Lou.” 

“Well, I don’t want to be a big, blubbering mess alone, so yeah.” Standing up, Louis reaches out for Harry’s hand and helps him off the couch, leading him into the kitchen. “Come on. Help me make a grocery list. I need to go to the store.”

÷

Physically affectionate is almost an understatement for how he and Louis are together, and though it definitely got more intense after they started having sex, they’ve been that way since getting together, and are almost always touching somehow. It’s hard at school, where they can’t be that close, and where not everyone knows they’re dating, but they’ve done okay. 

Giving words to their feelings makes it a little more difficult because all Harry wants to do is kiss Louis and tell him that he loves him. It’s suddenly much more unstandable that Zayn and Niall have their ‘husband high five’ as they apparently call it, but Harry doesn’t want to steal their idea. As far as he knows, there’s no such thing as ‘boyfriend hand gestures’ but he Googles to be sure.

Harry frowns at his laptop, then looks into the kitchen, waiting for Louis. When Louis hauls his basket of clean laundry into the living room and drops onto the couch beside him, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek, he turns his laptop so that Louis can see the screen, and says, “Hey, Lou, um…”

“What’s this? Sign language?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I was trying to think of something we could do, you know?”

“Oh, yeah.” Louis points at the screen. “I like that. I’ve always found sign language fascinating. I wonder if we could take a class or something. Could be useful down the road, like, I’m sure there are hearing impaired kids out there who need parents who can communicate—” 

Harry cuts him off with a kiss, knocking his laptop onto the basket of laundry. They continue their conversation later that evening, once they’ve put their clothes back on.

In the teachers’ lounge the next day, they give each other a thumbs up, gently bumping their fists and touching the pads of their thumbs together. Liam’s obnoxiously loud, “Aww!” follows them out into the hall. 

÷

As soon as the senior graduation ceremony ends, the school year is officially over, and Louis goes straight into what Harry starts calling ‘moving mode’ because it’s all he talks about. Usually, Harry is much more uptight and Louis is much more laidback, but moving is something that Harry has a lot of experience with, while Louis has virtually none. 

He’s not taking everything with him, a lot of his grandmother’s things are staying, so he has to pack some things and leave others, and he’s so flustered that Harry kind of wants to throw him over his shoulder and haul him back to the bedroom. Which he does once, but Louis hops off the bed and goes right back to the kitchen to divy up the coffee cups.

Once his grad school classes start, Harry spends more time at his apartment. At first. Because it’s summer school, he has class every single day, and even though he’s only taking two, he feels like he’s on campus all the time. It’s like being one hundred percent back into college with absolutely no warm-up, throwing him for a bit, and definitely making him glad that the classes he’ll take fall and spring semester are online. 

For the first two weeks, he avoids Louis’ house because he’s been so focused on packing anyway that Harry’s sure he’d just be in the way. But he misses him, and since it’s summer, he’s not seeing him at work, and the weekends aren’t nearly enough. After that he splits his study time between his apartment and Louis’ guest bedroom, which is supposed to stay exactly as it is, so Harry doesn’t have to worry about Louis appearing with a box to start packing up the room around him. 

One day it’s June and the next it’s July, and Harry knows that’s how it happens every year, but it seems so sudden this time. Louis rents a big truck and Harry skips class to help him move into the new house. All day long, Harry hears about how they have plenty of help and that he should’ve gone to class, but Louis is awful at hiding how happy he is to have Harry there with him. He does insist that Harry go to class the next day while Louis helps Fizzy move her things into his old house. 

On Friday, when Harry gets out of class and drives to his apartment, he finds Louis waiting. With boxes.

“I know we said we’d wait to move you after your classes end, and I know that’s just a couple of weeks away, but…” Louis drops the stack of folded cardboard on the floor between the blue sofas, sets his packing tape dispenser on top, and leans across the breakfast bar, tapping his fingers on the countertop. “It’s boring there without you.”

“Yeah?” Harry plants his hands on the counter and meets Louis halfway across it, faces just a few inches apart. 

“Yes,” Louis says and pecks Harry’s lips. “Cohabitate with me.”

Harry snorts and pushes Louis’ shoulder. “Cohabitate with you? I’m planning to.”

“Now, though. It’s Friday. Still early.” Louis dips his chin, looks up through his lashes, lowers his voice and purrs, “We can pack and start moving your stuff.”

“Did you just use your sex voice to try to talk me into moving?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“You want me to just… move? Everything. Today?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Louis claps his hands and turns around, picking up his tape and quickly assembling a box. “You want to start in the kitchen or your bedroom? I’ve got bubble wrap in the car.” 

Before Harry can respond, Louis is swinging his keys and running for the door, and Harry has to shout to get his attention.

“Lou!”

With his hand on the doorknob, Louis turns around.

“I… I don’t…” Harry clears his throat and quietly says, “No.”

Louis frowns. “No?”

“No. I’m not… I’ve got a paper to write. Things I have to do. I can’t just pack up and move today.”

“Oh.” Louis slips his keys back into his pocket and picks up the empty cardboard box he just taped together. “Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

“Are you mad?” 

Louis shakes his head. “No. Just miss you. I didn’t mean to push.”

It’s fine, and Harry tells him as much. He’s as excited about moving in together as Louis is. 

They’re a little quieter than usual while they eat dinner, and Louis leaves shortly afterward so that he can walk Kate, but when Harry calls him before bed that night, everything seems back to normal. He spends all of Saturday on his schoolwork and on Sunday, he wakes up with nothing to do. The stack of boxes is still in the living room, so he starts packing, and within a few hours has filled most of them. 

It takes him until evening to decide, and when he finally FaceTimes Louis to tell him he’d like to go ahead and move some of his things, he tries not to let Louis’ pleased expression make him too happy. 

They don’t get everything moved that night, of course not, but while Harry’s busy wrapping things in the kitchen so that they don’t break during the move, Louis packs every single stitch of Harry’s clothing, the sheets and comforter off his bed, and all of the stuff from his bedside tables. He moves the boxes downstairs one by one, and then starts on the boxes in the kitchen that Harry’s declared ready, completely filling both of their vans and yelling from the door that it’s time to go before Harry realizes that they’re leaving.

It’s past midnight when they pull up at the new house, Kate’s unhappy with them both, and after she comes very close to peeing on Louis’ shoe, she hides in one of the bedrooms, staying there while they unload all of the boxes and carry them inside. By the time they finish, it’s almost two in the morning, and Harry’s exhausted. But he falls asleep happy, sprawled across Louis’ bed on his stomach with Louis half on top of him.

The next morning he reminds Louis of his promise involving Harry, sex, and his blue couch. They bicker about it over breakfast with Louis trying to figure out if they’ll still have the energy to move it after they fuck on it, and Harry claiming that the actual location isn’t important, just the couch. 

It ends up not mattering anyway because the other guys show up to help move, and though Louis says he’ll make them leave, Harry won’t let him. The lowboy dresser is much easier to carry with two of them on each end, with Niall and Sara cheering them on, and though they need multiple trips to get all of the furniture that Harry’s accumulated since moving in, it really doesn’t take that long.

By Monday evening, even his food is moved out of the refrigerator, Harry’s finished cleaning any mess they left behind, and the apartment is empty. 

The first few weeks in the new house are so busy with grad school and unpacking and deciding what things they need to get rid of and what things they need to add now that they’ve combined their belongings, that they don’t have time for much else. 

Between the end of his summer school classes and their first day back before the beginning of the next school year, there’s a window of a couple of weeks where they have very little required of them, and they spend almost every second of it together, just doing mundane things. 

It’s the happiest Harry can ever remember being with his life, but there’s a minuscule part of him that feels guilty about it. Sometimes he wonders if he and Gabe could’ve been this good together, if he’d just tried harder, and it’s stupid to feel that way, especially when he understands now that they fell apart for a million reasons. Gabe not wanting to have kids was just the catalyst. 

Most of the time he turns the fleeting guilt around, focusing on being a better partner to Louis, and it works. He hardly ever thinks of Gabe anymore, and oddly enough it was more than a month past their June wedding anniversary when he remembered it, and only then because Zayn and Niall made a big deal of their own. 

Before any of the other rooms in the house are finished, they set up the guest room, because Harry’s mom is beyond excited to visit, even though Harry’s probably more nervous about her meeting Louis than he’s ever been about anything in his life. 

“She’ll be here Friday evening, right?” Louis asks from his perch on the kitchen counter by the sink. 

“Yeah, right around dinnertime.” Harry sprinkles the mix of herbs and spices on the roast, rubbing it in with his hands, and giggling. “Massage the meat. That’s never not going to be funny.”

Louis snorts and hops down off the counter. “Anything I can do?”

“Chop the carrots and potatoes? Thanks, Lou.” Harry nods towards to pile of vegetables on the counter. “I like cooking with you. It’s fun. Reminds me of growing up and working in the kitchen with my mom and Gemma.”

“Yeah? Baby Harold slicing and dicing? I bet that was cute.” 

“Not baby me, teenage me. Who was not at all cute. My hair was massive and I had acne and—”

“Stop insulting my favorite person.” Louis crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“I…” Harry bites down on his lip. There’s so much he wishes he could find words for, but for now he simple says, “I love you.” 

“Love you too, baby.” Louis steps into Harry’s space, little crease between his eyebrows, bright blue eyes clouded with concern, and pulls his hands from his pockets, resting one on Harry’s lower back, and whispering, “Are you happy?”

Harry nods, scrunching his nose and pursing his lips at first, but then he turns to face Louis and unleashes his smile, dimples and everything, and says, “More than. Might need a new word.”

“Yeah,” Louis says and tips his head to the side. “Me too. You’ll have to think of something, Mr. On-Track-For-His-Masters-Degree.”

“I’ll work on it.” Harry bends slightly and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ cheek, and after they finish in the kitchen, Harry takes Louis’ hand and leads him down the hall, grabbing Kate McKinnon’s leash and calling her to the door. He’s been promising the kids across the street that they could try to teach her some tricks before school starts back up again. 

÷


	23. Chapter 23

÷

“Lou? Come on!” Harry yells from the living room where he’s been waiting almost ten minutes for Louis to finish getting dressed, so they can walk over the Niall and Zayn’s for dinner, which is really nothing more than an excuse to pick their brains about the process of adoption. Not that they’re planning to adopt when they’ve only been together for a few months, but they’ve decided to gather as much information as they can before they get started. And they’re going to be late when Louis is always early for everything. Harry huffs and pushes himself up off the couch, wandering down the hall. “Louis! Where are you?”

“Right here, Harold.” Louis opens their bedroom door and leans against the jamb, still wearing the same cut-off grey sweatpants and nothing else that he’s been wearing since he got out of the shower. “Took you long enough. Thought you’d be back here eight minutes ago.”

Harry scowls and says, “You’re making us late on purpose?”

“Nope.” Louis shakes his head and holds two fingers up. “I have two surprises for you. No, three. Sorry. The first one is, we’re not late. They’re not expecting us until seven.”

“I knew it! I knew you were lying. Five o’clock. Wait. Surprises?”

“Yeah. So, that’s one. So pick which of the other two you want first. One’s inside the house and one’s outside.”

Harry bites his lip, trying to guess from absolutely zero information what the surprises are. “Inside, I guess.”

“Oh, good. Okay, so…” Louis walks past him into the hall and starts towards the living room, calling back over his shoulder, “This way, Harold. Now, pick your favorite couch and sit down.”

“Okay…” Harry chooses the one that he always thinks of as Louis’ couch and drops down right in the middle.

With his hands on his hips, Louis paces back and forth a bit, then stops and reaches into his pocket. “Two years ago, I met you for the first time, and I never thought then that I’d—”

“Are you proposing?” Harry shouts, arms flailing as he stands up. They agreed to wait until they’ve been together for at least six months, and this is month five. He set an alert in his phone.

Louis snorts and says, “Not today. I was trying to say that I never thought then that I’d be about to fuck you over the back of a velvet couch, but now I’m not sure I want to if you’re going to yell at me.” 

“You are not. We have to— Did you plan this?”

“You bet your ass I did. Now, strip.” Louis snaps his fingers and raises his eyebrows as if daring Harry to disobey. 

As quick as he can without hurting himself, Harry kicks off his shoes, and yanks off his shirt, pushing his shorts and underwear down and tossing them aside. He’s nowhere near hard, but that doesn’t mean anything when Louis is in the room. Except when Harry looks up, he’s not. So he sits down on his bare bum and waits. 

But then Louis appears again, standing naked at the end of the hall, with lube and a condom in one hand and a towel in the other. He drapes the towel over the back of the couch and walks around to stand in front of Harry, who reaches for him immediately, trying to get his mouth on Louis since he’s right there at eye level. 

Louis heaves a dramatic sigh and, as he feeds his soft cock between Harry’s parted lips, he says indulgently, “If you insist.”

Harry hums, letting Louis fill his mouth, closing his lips around the base and slowly pulling off, taking his time licking around the head and tonguing his slit before swallowing him back down. He keeps his eyes closed, sucking until Louis is fully hard, then he looks up, meeting Louis’ gaze through watery eyes as he sinks back down, taking as much of him as he can. While he works to get Louis off, he strokes himself, stopping when Louis taps a finger against his cheek and says, “Enough, baby.”

He can’t help but whine a little, but he lets Louis help him up, and goes where he’s led, around the back of the couch to be bent over it. With his knee, Louis knocks Harry’s legs further apart, and it brings his body lower so that his stomach hits the back of the couch and his hands easily rest on the cushion. Biting his lip while he waits for the first touch of Louis’ finger, he gasps when he feels Louis’ lips right at the bottom of his spine. 

Lightly, Louis kisses down Harry’s left cheek and then around and up his right, the beard that Louis has been letting grow all summer grazes Harry’s skin, and his breath catches. Louis’ hands are warm, skimming over Harry’s back, and when he begins to knead at the muscles of Harry’s ass, he sinks further into the couch. Trailing his dry finger down Harry’s crack makes him shiver and he’s still shaking when Louis spreads his cheeks and licks from his balls to his rim, circling his tongue, making Harry’s dick jump and the sensitive head rub against the towel on the back of the sofa.

After the first lick, Louis dives in, his talented mouth making a mess of Harry within minutes, licking and sucking and kissing and biting with no pattern so that Harry doesn’t know what’s coming next or how long it’ll last. Louis’ beard scratches every sensitive part of him, making him warm all over, and pulling a moan out of Harry when Louis slowly drags it right over his rim. 

Harry almost doesn’t notice when Louis slips the first finger inside, focused instead on the teeth nipping along his crack, but knowing that he’s one step closer to fulfilling this fantasy makes him push back against Louis’ hand. As soon as he does that, Louis pulls his finger out and returns with two, and Harry moans again, louder this time. 

Once he’s worked Harry up to three fingers, Louis says, “Ready, baby?” and Harry nods convulsively, trying to spread his legs even more, but he freezes when he feels something cool and hard.

“Lou?” Harry looks back over his shoulder and Louis raises his eyebrows. “What— Oh, fuck.” Bracing his hands against the cushion, Harry forces his body to relax and allow the intrusion. The dildo is rigid, not giving at all when Louis pushes it past the tight ring of muscle, and Harry has to breathe through it at first, but Louis moves it so slowly that it’s not difficult to take. 

“Like that, baby?”

“Yes,” Harry hisses and hitches his hips back to take the rest of the dildo inside. 

“Was Ryan Gosling involved in this part?” Louis asks, as if this conversation was taking place over lunch and not while he’s twisting a fat dildo inside Harry. 

Harry shakes his head. “No. Fuck. No, just you.” 

As he turns the dildo, it brushes against Harry’s prostate, and his body jerks, but he has no chance to recover when Louis does it again and again and again, leaving him gasping for air and a little afraid his legs might give out. One last twist, and Louis’ hand lands on the small of his back, pressing lightly as he stands up, giving Harry a second to breathe before he starts to fuck the dildo in and out, hard and fast, and all that Harry can do is hold on. The head of his dick bumps into the back of the couch every time Louis pushes inside, and there’s a moment where Harry thinks he might come without getting Louis’ cock, and he cries out, begging Louis to fuck him.

“Am fucking you. You said hard and fast with a fat dildo.” Louis punctuates the last two words with two particularly rough thrusts, then slows down, letting Harry catch his breath.

It takes a moment for him to pull himself together, then he says, voice strained, “Yeah, but— but that wasn’t _all.”_ Louis hums, picking up speed with the dildo, and Harry croaks out, “Holding my arms... Your cock... I…”

“Oh, that’s right,” Louis slowly twists the dildo again, pulling it out as he does, so that only the head is inside Harry, and he keeps turning it while he speaks. “Wrists crossed? That’s what you said. Well…” Harry falls forward when he moves his arms, crossing his wrists behind his back, and Louis grips them carefully and asks him if he’s comfortable before starting back up again with the dildo, shoving it right against Harry’s prostate, short grunts leaving Harry’s throat every time. 

Harry doesn’t have it in him to protest again, as much as he wants Louis to fuck him with his own dick, the dildo is hard and thick and long and Louis is too good with his hands for Harry to complain, so he rides the constant thrum of pleasure, groaning when Louis pulls back, expecting another unforgiving thrust. Instead, he’s quite suddenly empty, and then full again, this time with the familiar heat of Louis inside him. 

With his hand free, Louis switches his hold on Harry’s wrists, and checks to be sure he’s alright again, before he starts fucking him in earnest. It’s so much better than the dildo that Harry wants to cry, but he’s too far gone for tears, barely able to do more than whine and drool a little. 

Wiggling his fingers where they’re tightly held, Harry can feel Louis’ arm and it’s comforting, but then Louis lets go of Harry’s wrists and holds his hands instead, and it’s overwhelming. Always so sweet and thoughtful even while he’s fucking Harry over the back of the couch.

Louis slips his hand between Harry and the couch and the next time he dicks in hard, the head of Harry’s cock nudges the palm of Louis’ hand and he presses back on the tip, then loosely wraps his fingers around him, letting Harry fuck into the barely there pressure. It’s maddening. But it’s also currently ranked number one out of all of the times they’ve had sex, and Harry hasn’t even come yet. 

Encircling the base of Harry’s dick with his fingers, Louis tightens his grip slightly and says, “Want me to fuck you with that dildo again?” 

Releasing Harry’s dick, Louis slows his thrusts, starting to pull out, and Harry tries to force himself back on Louis’ dick by rocking his body, but he doesn’t get far with the way Louis is holding his hands. Desperate to keep Louis inside him, Harry mutters, “No, no, no, no, no…” until Louis bucks his hips, going deep and staying there, laying his hand on Harry’s hip.

“You want me to stop, baby?” Louis asks, voice so incredibly sincere it clears Harry’s head a bit.

Pouting, Harry wiggles his fingers in Louis’ hold. “Want you to fuck me with your cock.” 

Louis laughs quietly, rubbing his hand from Harry’s hip down the outside of his thigh and up the front, finally gripping Harry firmly in his hand and stroking him. When Louis snaps his hips, it takes Harry’s breath away, and he finds himself coming soon after, with very little warning. After he works Harry through his orgasm, Louis pulls out, letting go of Harry’s wrists, and a moment later Harry feels him painting his thighs with his come. 

“Can’t move,” Harry mumbles, face squished against the cornflower blue velvet of the couch. “Love you.”

“Love you too, baby,” Louis gently massages the muscles of Harry’s ass and lower back, rubbing the palms of his hands up to his shoulders and helping him stand. 

He cleans Harry up with the towel and leads him down the hall to their bedroom, and once Louis convinces Harry to put on a pair of shorts, they head out the back door, so that Louis can give him his outside surprise.

Hand in hand, they walk around the side of the house to the front and Louis leads Harry down the drive to the mailbox, then pulls him around, facing him towards the house, and says, “What do you think?”

This house is nothing fancy, a brick ranch built in the nineteen-fifties, with small bedrooms and no closet space, just like almost every other house in the neighborhood. But there’s a big pot of beautiful blue hydrangeas to either side of the front door, which is now painted a brilliant emerald green. 

“How did you do that without me seeing?”

Louis shrugs and hums, backing away from Harry and holding his hands up. “You’re easy to distract.”

Trying to smack Louis’ shoulder, even though he’s out of reach, Harry follows him, pinching at his hips and nipples. “Is that why— You’ve been all over me for days!” 

“I’m always all over you,” Louis says, still walking backwards towards the house, trying to fend off Harry’s attack. 

Narrowing his eyes and striding after him, Harry unsheathes his imaginary lightsaber and duels Louis all the way to the top of the drive, where Harry lunges. He jumps at Louis, landing almost astride his hip, and Louis grabs on, holding him for a few seconds before dropping him to the ground and dashing off, cackling while he dares Harry to chase him. 

Harry takes off running after him as if Louis isn’t going to let him catch up. 

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Kate McKinnon your favorite part of this story? Learn more about adopting senior dogs [here](https://instagram.com/susiesseniordogs?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=1slu8uoidmrkm), [here](https://www.petful.com/animal-welfare/adopting-an-older-pet/), and [here](http://susiesseniordogs.com)!  
>   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I live for comments and kudos💙
> 
> [Here's a Tumblr post, which I'd love if you'd reblog](http://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/184224448020/an-unbalanced-force-by-fullonlarrie-with-art-by)💚


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